


From the Ashes

by Baniac



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:48:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 98,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6105406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baniac/pseuds/Baniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the siege of Gotham, Bane and Talia are two of the world's most-wanted criminals. Their failure in Gotham leaves Talia damaged physically and emotionally. Bane is determined to help her, even if that entails working for those he once tried to destroy. His mission: to apprehend an international terrorist. Will it take a criminal to catch a criminal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after my Child of Darkness trilogy but can be read as a stand-alone.
> 
> I usually write from an omniscient limited POV, but I decided to write this story in omniscient unlimited as a challenge. Let me know if it's too confusing.

            Talia’s scream shattered Bane’s sleep.

            Instinctively he leapt out of bed, rushed to the door that separated his bedroom from hers, moving far faster than should have been possible for a man of his size. A second scream prickled the hair on his arms as he burst through the door. Across the room, another door shot open, and his second-in-command, John Barsad, stormed in, pistol in hand, the American’s expression as alarmed as Bane’s, his attention on Talia in the dim lamplight.

            She thrashed about in her spacious bed, silk sheets crumpled, blankets in a pile on the floor. Sweat made her black kimono cling to her small body. Perspiration darkened her short sable hair.

            Bane sat beside her, the mattress protesting his weight as he reached for her shoulders.

            “Talia,” he said, his mechanical-sounding voice wheezing through the mask that covered most of his face. “Talia, wake up.” His big hands engulfed her shoulders, gently shook her before drawing her toward his bare chest.

            She awoke with a gasp, one fist flashing defensively toward Bane’s head. He blocked the blow, held her wrist firmly. Her sapphire eyes locked with his. Fear there, rage.

            “It’s all right,” he crooned. “You’re safe. It was just a nightmare.”

            A pause, then the mist cleared from Talia’s gaze, and tension left her shoulders, lowering them. A sigh of relief slipped between her beautiful lips.

            Bane touched her cheek, repeated, “Just a dream.”

            Talia closed her eyes for a moment, appeared to center herself, nodded.

            To Barsad, Bane said, “Thank you, brother. You may leave us.”

            Barsad gave a tight nod of concern, his fingers relaxing on the grip of his Beretta. With a final glance at his two superiors, he retreated. Outside, in the hallway, two of his League brothers approached, one with a pistol in hand, another with a katana.

            “I heard her scream,” the formidable black man said, a Nigerian known as Yemi. “Is she all right?”

            “Yeah, just a nightmare,” Barsad assured. “Bane’s with her. Nothing to worry about, brothers.”

            Yemi frowned at hearing of their mistress’s continued night terrors; they had plagued her since coming to _’Eth Alth’eban_ a week ago. With an encouraging nod from Barsad, Yemi and the other man headed back to their rooms one floor down. Barsad stepped into his bedroom just across the hall from Talia’s chambers.

            Talia’s scream had jolted Barsad from a deep sleep, his reaction automatic and quick—get to her, protect her from an attack. But of course such a danger was next to impossible here in the underground fortress of _’Eth Alth’eban_ , headquarters of the League of Shadows. Yet such an impossibility could not deter her men’s reactions to rush to her side.

            As he set the pistol on his nightstand, Barsad ran his fingers through his brown hair, sighed. Crawling back under his blankets, he knew Bane would remain with Talia until she was comfortable and calm once again. Or perhaps his friend would stay with her for the rest of the night. Barsad frowned. No, he’d be surprised if that happened. After all, Bane and Talia hadn’t slept together in nearly two years. Well, Barsad considered, not counting that last night in Gotham, but Bane had said that occasion had been chaste, and Barsad believed him.

            For Bane’s sake, Barsad often wished Talia would rekindle the physical relationship she once had with Bane. Over the years, Barsad had watched the two be pulled apart by work and circumstances, living half a world away from one another most of Talia’s adult life. The separation had changed Bane, damaged him, made him even more driven and ruthless, more isolated. And then had come the disaster in Gotham; fresh damage, something that had affected Talia far more than Bane, sending her into a deep depression and not just because of the physical injuries she had suffered. Barsad feared she might never mentally and emotionally heal, a fear Bane shared. Helping Talia—the League’s commander—recover was now Bane’s focus, often superseding even his duties as acting commander.

            Barsad rolled over, restless, his senses still on high alert from adrenaline. In the quiet of the dormitory, he could hear Bane talking with Talia, but the closed door to her room kept any words from reaching him.

            “You should let me give you something to help you sleep,” Bane said to Talia as she propped herself up in bed with her pillows.

            “No, I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

            “The nightmares are getting worse,” Bane observed.

            Talia waved a dismissive hand, avoided his gaze.

            “What was it about?” he pressed, still seated on the edge of her mattress. He told himself that he should not maintain such an intimate post, but he could not remove himself.

            “I don’t remember. It was just abstract images.”

            The effortlessness of her lie pained him. He wanted to take her hand, warm it in his as he used to do in prison when she had been a mere child and he a teenager.

            “I remember a time,” he murmured, staring at her, willing her to look at him again, “when we told each other everything. Do you remember those days, _habibati_?”

            Talia’s lips twitched in a frown, a hint of shame. At last she softly replied, “Yes.”

            He leaned toward her, spoke gently but with the firmness of her protector, “Tell me what the dream was about, Talia.”

            With arms crossed as if to guard against a chill, she hesitated, as she had every night when he asked.

            “Talia.”

            “It will cause you pain.”

            “So be it. Tell me.”

            Talia sighed in frustration, forced her gaze to his. “It was about Mama…about the day she died.”

            As predicted, the mere mention of Melisande pierced Bane’s heart with an agony as fresh as the time of her rape and murder in prison. He knew Talia read the reflection of pain on his face.

            “And the other dreams you’ve had these past nights—were they also about your mother?”

            “Some…not all.”

            “What were the others about?”

            “Being in the pit prison.”

            “I feared as much. It was a mistake to bring you to _’Eth Alth’eban_. Being underground has no doubt stirred these memories.”

            “What other choice was there? We couldn’t continue to stay with my grandmother in Rajasthan. It put her in too much danger—we’re the two most wanted people in the world.”

            “A risk she accepted. Perhaps we should have listened to her and stayed. She is often wiser than the two of us put together.”

            The thought of her headstrong grandmother—her only living relative—tugged a smile from Talia. “I do miss her.”

            “Then you shall go back to her. I am now convinced you will prosper more there. I am sorry for bringing you here.”

            “We both agreed it was best. But let’s not be hasty, Bane. Perhaps in time the nightmares will cease.”

            “I cannot bear to see you so distressed. I will contact your grandmother in the morning.”

            “No, let’s wait a few more days.”

            Weighing the risks presented by returning to Rajasthan, Bane studied Talia’s drawn face, traveled to the marks left by the pins that had anchored the halo brace to her skull. Weeks of seeing her thus immobile and uncomfortable. Never before had she suffered an injury, not even when a youngster training to be an assassin at the League’s former headquarters in the Himalayas. Though Bane had endured great physical suffering during his forty-five years—and continued to do so—nothing pained him as much as seeing Talia struggle through recovering from a broken neck. Her physical healing had progressed remarkably well, and within eight weeks she had been free of the horrid brace. But it was her mental health that troubled Bane most.

            “I think it best if you allow me to return you to the palace in Rajasthan.”

            She offered an appreciative smile. “We will compromise, _habibi_. One more night. If these troubles persist, then we can consider our options. Agreed?”

            Talia’s smile worked its usual magic upon him, causing him to relent. “Very well, my dear. I will allow this, though I do so reluctantly.”

            “Thank you.” She briefly touched his big hand. “Now you must get some rest. I’m very sorry for having disturbed you and Barsad.”

            He put his other hand over theirs, longed to kiss her. “No apologies, _habibati_. And are you sure you won’t allow me to give you something to help you sleep?”

            “Quite sure. But thank you.”

            A hint of her old softness returned, pleasing him and lifting him to his feet. “Very well, my dear. Please don’t hesitate to call for me if you require anything.”

            Talia hid her fears as she watched him lumber toward the door to his room. As her attention trailed over the heinous scar that ran the length of his spine, her heart twisted with sorrow over what he had borne over the years—all for her sake. Then she admired his solid, bulging muscles, his mountainous, broad shoulders. So much power there, a physical and intellectual menace that had cowed one of the world’s greatest cities. But Talia knew there was so much more to Bane than just an imposing physique and gifted mind. She knew his heart, she knew the man who had dedicated his life to her and her alone. Her protector, her friend, her former lover.

            Shame washed over her as he paused in the doorway and looked back at her. The dark blue mask that provided him with an inhalant of constant pain-killing drugs hid most of his face from her, but his dark eyes revealed his small, reassuring smile. Then he closed the door behind him.

            Talia shut her eyes, hated herself all over again for what he had sacrificed for her. Immediately she regretted sending him from her room. Only her pride had allowed it. Truth be told, she had wanted him to stay, to sit with her and talk, like they used to back in the old days, like they had that last night in Gotham. Since her injuries, she had lost so much of her emotional strength. She doubted herself greatly now, on many levels. But when Bane was with her, he gave her some of that strength back, some of her confidence. And she felt, as always, completely safe with him near. Nothing and no one in the world provided that more than Bane.

            For a moment, Talia considered going to his room, even if just for a few minutes. But then she sighed at her weakness and forced herself to lie back down. She did not, however, turn off the light.


	2. Chapter 2

            The next night Bane awoke in the wee hours once again. Normally a sound sleeper, he knew only Talia could be the reason for his awakening. For a moment he listened, detected her voice, but not loud like last night. He crept across his room. Tonight he had left the adjoining door ajar. Pausing there, he listened again, holding his breath so the noise of his mask would not impede his hearing. Distressed murmurings reached him, the rustle of blankets, the squeak of the bedframe.

            He told himself to wait, to see if she quieted, but he was unable to restrain himself. Using stealth learned from _ninjutsu_ , he glided across the floorboards. Twenty-five years in the subterranean prison had given him excellent night vision, so he easily made his way through the darkness to Talia’s bedside.

            “No,” she mumbled in her dream state. “Bane…Bane…”

            Hearing the anxiety in her voice, he decided to wake her. He turned on the bedside lamp. “Talia,” he gently said, reaching to touch her warm cheek.

            Her long lashes fluttered then slowly lifted. “Bane.” She breathed a sigh of relief before giving a soft moan. “I woke you again.”

            “No, I got up to use the toilet, and thought I would check on you.”

            She offered a sleepy smile. “You’re lying; I woke you. I’m sorry.”

            Bane settled on the edge of the mattress, rested a hand on her hip, which her scarlet chemise barely covered. “Your dreams were troubled again.” He hesitated. “You said my name. What were you dreaming, _habibati_?”

            Talia groaned and rolled from her side to her back. “I was climbing the shaft again. But this time when I saw the men attacking you, I went back for you. This time I wasn’t a child.”

            He frowned. “It is your guilt about my injuries that caused your dream. I do wish I could keep you from blaming yourself still after all these years.” His sigh rattled through the mask. “Yet another bad dream about the pit. Now you must allow me to contact your grandmother so you may go back to her.”

            She frowned ruefully. “I’ll keep my word and allow it, but…will you return with me?”

            “Is this an order from the Demon’s Head or a request from my _habibati_?”

            “It’s not an order. Because of the danger either one of us imposes upon _Jiddah_ , it must be your own decision.”

            “My decision, as always, is based upon your desire. So tell me what that is.”

            Talia hated to think of being without him right now. She needed him and his strength. Though he, too, had been grievously injured during the battle for Gotham—indeed, he had been near death for some time afterward—she had never viewed him as weak. Even as he lay comatose for weeks, she had been confident he would regain consciousness, that he would come back to her, for she knew him to be the strongest of men, both physically and mentally. She had been at his bedside as much as her own injuries allowed, holding his hand, speaking to him, desperate to let him know that she, too, had survived, for she knew Bane would struggle to live if for no other reason than because she asked him to.

            “You may think me weak—and perhaps I am—but I need you with me, _habibi_. I know it’s selfish of me, but—”

            “It is not selfish; it is understandable. And it is what I want as well.” He smiled behind the mask, took her hand and squeezed it.

            She smiled back, enjoying his touch; it chased away the darkness of the dream. “Do you ever wonder how things would have been different if you had climbed out of the pit with me that day? If you hadn’t been injured?”

            “When I was younger, before I was initiated into the League, yes, I occasionally wondered such foolish things. But Temujin’s training helped me accept my past, my fate, and leave it behind.”

            “You were able to accept your past because it was heroic. Mine isn’t.”

            “You are talking nonsense, Talia. You were the bravest of children. You never could have made that climb if you weren’t. And then to find your grandmother on your own, with no real knowledge of the outside world. What other ten-year-old could have done as much?”

            “I had Mama’s instructions to help me find _Jiddah_.”

            “Memorized instructions are one thing, but actually navigating a foreign land and enlisting the help of total strangers at that age were remarkable, heroic feats. How many times must I tell you this? You must let it go.”

            “I thought I had…until my failure in Gotham. Since then, it seems everything has come back to me, every failure, every sin in my life. They haunt me.” Sitting up, she was closer to him now. His scent overwhelmed her—a blend of odors from the materials of his mask as well as the vapor that circulated within, mixed with a touch of perspiration slipping through the cleanliness from his bedtime shower, along with the smell that was distinctly his own, something unique that stirred her passion, especially with him so close, wearing nothing but linen, drawstring pants.

            “As I have said before,” Bane insisted, his voice becoming throatier, “the failure in Gotham is my fault. I should have killed the Batman in the sewers when I had the chance, regardless of my own pride or your desire to prolong his suffering.”

            Talia lay her hand against the side of Bane’s mask. “You’ve always tried to claim my failings as your own. I won’t hear it anymore.”

            “Then we must both agree to never discuss this again. It is in the past, _habibati_ , like the pit. We must look to the future.”

            “The future,” she said sadly, her hand slipping back to her lap. “I _have_ been thinking about it. And I believe it would be best if I step down and pass my powers on to you. I am no longer worthy of the post.”

            He scowled. “I will hear none of this. Your recent trauma has impaired your judgment. Now is not the time for such momentous decisions. Once you have completed your physical therapy, your confidence and strength will be restored, and you will see clearer then.”

            “I don’t need confidence and strength to realize that some of my past decisions have been flawed. My convalescence has given me time to reflect. I told myself all those years in Gotham that I was doing my father’s work, that I was avenging him, but now I realize I was merely trying to satisfy my own selfish need to erase my guilt for my broken relationship with Papa.”

            “Again, your guilt was misplaced. I was the reason for your estrangement.”

            “The choice to sever ties with Papa was my decision alone, Bane. Yes, he unjustly excommunicated you, but you never would’ve been in that position if it weren’t for me. Now, tell me, will you accept your new role as the Demon’s Head?”

            He scowled. “I will continue to serve in the interim as _de facto_ commander, but by birthright the title is yours, and that is the only way it shall be, _habibati_. I will hear no more of this. Do you understand?”

            “But it’s necessary, Bane. Don’t you see? I’m no longer worthy or able to perform the role. The League needs _you_.”

            “You are my priority. You always have been. I will always serve you. We have been apart for too long. My wish is to remain close to you, in whatever capacity that may be. Taking over as the Demon’s Head would not allow that.”

            Sadly, she studied him, touched his mask again, felt him lean into her palm, his gaze softening. She knew the power she had over him because of his love for her, and she also knew she had abused that love. Until her injury, she had been too blind to see it. After he had ordered her last lover killed—an act to which he had never admitted—she had been resentful and bitter for some time, making it easy to justify her treatment of him.

            For now, she decided to let the discussion about relinquishing power die. It was obvious she would make no headway with him on the subject tonight. Tomorrow she would try to recruit Barsad for her cause, and once she was back with her grandmother, she would acquire her assistance as well. Her grandmother had never wanted her to inherit the title of the Demon’s Head, so Talia was confident of her aid.

            “You are too good to me, Bane. I don’t deserve you.”

            “More foolish talk, _habibati_.”

            “I wish it were only talk.” Her hand dropped away. “But the truth of the matter is that in many ways I _became_ Miranda Tate after playing her for so many years in Gotham. I lost myself, and it changed me. I fear that I can’t go back to being Talia al Ghūl.”

            Urgently Bane took her small face in his hands, his protrusive mask nearly touching her nose. “You are not Miranda Tate. You played a role, and you played it well. But you will always be Talia… _my_ Talia.”

            His possessive word moved her in an unexpected way, pleased her, eased away some of her turmoil. Her hand drifted up to touch his fingers, and she impulsively placed a soft, brief kiss against the mask’s grating, which covered his damaged mouth. Bane’s eyes crinkled in a smile. His eyes always amazed her, how transformative they were. In the line of duty, they were frigid and dark, almost lifeless; but whenever he was with her, their true slate blue came through, and they brightened and softened.

            “I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she said near a whisper. “Will you stay with me?”

            He caressed her cheek. “Of course.”

            She nodded her thanks and made an attempt to return some order to her bedding. When she turned back to him, he was pulling a chair over to the bedside.

            “Bane,” Talia said, amused, “I don’t mean for you to spend the night in a chair.” She patted the pillow next to her then shifted over to the other pillow and settled beneath the comforter.

            He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Very well.”

            Bane had lost nearly two stone during his convalescence but had regained much of it over the past few months, putting him back around twenty stone, so Talia’s bed groaned when he lay down, facing her. He tugged the comforter over him enough to hide the erection that pressed at his pants.

            “Thank you,” she murmured.

            “For what, _habibati_?”

            “For this, for everything.”

            He smiled indulgently. “Shall I turn off the light?”

            “No, not yet.”

            The sight of his physical arousal had awakened her desires, a surprising manifestation after weeks of little sexual cravings. Her months of recovery and self-loathing had claimed her appetite for most everything. But what right did she have to him? She would not blame him if he were to refuse any advances on her part, now or in the future, considering how she had treated him over the past year and a half, since he had eliminated Dominic LePage from her life and her bed. Of course at the time she had been furious with him and deeply hurt, blaming his possessiveness of her. But now, looking back during these months of recuperation, she saw that his actions had not been motivated solely by personal feelings but by necessity. He had recognized back then how she was losing herself to Gotham and its wealthy society. Killing Dominic had been as much for the League’s protection as her own. Though she had told herself that she would never allow her relationship with Dominic to affect her work, perhaps in time he would have. Bane had seen that danger where she had not.

            Talia’s fingers drifted over the silver tubes on the front of Bane’s mask. “Have you given any further thought to the reconstructive surgery we discussed before? Since we are going back to India, it would be the perfect time for—”

            Bane closed his eyes and shook his head once. “We both know such an undertaking would require multiple procedures and a long convalescence. This is not the time for it.”

            “There will never be a _good_ time; we also both know that. Meanwhile you require more and more of the drugs to ease your pain, and they are causing damage elsewhere in your body. You can’t go on this way forever, Bane.”

            “Perhaps not, but for now…”

            She frowned, wished there was an easy way to restore the old beauty to his face. Even though it had been twenty years since he had been attacked in prison, she could still remember how he had looked as a young man. Surrounded by a harsh, inhuman environment of stone and dozens of men made ugly either by nature or their lives of crime, Bane had stood out as a thing of beauty to her. In a place that had nothing to encourage laughter or smiles, he had always managed to produce those for her benefit. His full lips would spread wide, and his eyes would dance, free of pain, bright and hopeful, always hopeful for their future, for _her_. Often she had kissed his straight nose or played with his ears, delighting in the way his right ear stuck out slightly more than his left. Again, she thought of his lips, their pillowy softness and the way the corners of his mouth extended just beyond. Most of the time in prison he kept his light brown hair cropped short to discourage vermin, but sometimes he let it grow, and her small fingers would play with it—mussing it up and smoothing it down in turn. After their escape from prison, he kept his head shaven to allow a tight fit for the mask and its flowing vapor. She wondered now, if his hair were allowed to grow back, would there be gray in it? She hated the thought of her protector growing old before her eyes. The lines of his sloping forehead had been there at an early age—he had a very expressive forehead—but years of responsibility and hardship had deepened them. Her fingers now traced them, smoothing them for an instant as she gently pressed against his warm skin. A slight throb at his temple betrayed the increase of his pulse.

            “I wish,” she murmured, “you would reconsider and have the surgery. Think of how wonderful it would be not to be a slave to the mask any longer. And more importantly, think of how such a drastic change could throw off the scent of those who wish to find you and avenge what we did in Gotham. The Masked Man would be no more.”

            “As I said, my priority right now is you, my dear. First, you will recover your health and vitality, _then_ we might be able to have this discussion again.”

            “But to protect yourself is to protect me, isn’t it?” She raised a coy eyebrow.

            He chuckled deep in his throat. “Nice try, my little minx.”

            She moved her hand to the fresh surgery scar on his torso, and her pensiveness returned as she felt the roughness beneath her fingers. “You seem to forget that you’re still healing as well.”

            “I am quite restored, I assure you.”

            Sudden anger caused her to scowl. “Someday I’ll make Selena Kyle pay for what she did to you. She was wise to go into hiding afterward. Imagine her surprise when I find her. I’ll relish it as I kill her.”

            Bane chuckled again. “So my little flower is going to defend my honor, is she?”

            Surprised, Talia turned her scowl upon him. “You doubt that I can?”

            “Of course not. You are a warrior. What I am saying is that there is no need for you to do so. Ms. Kyle is no concern of ours, wherever she may be now.”

            Talia’s anger drifted away as she admired his magnificent body. No amount of scars could ever diminish the sculpted, primal beauty of his musculature. In Gotham, she had been surrounded by and catered to by untold numbers of attractive men and had shared her bed with many of them to further the League’s cause, but even those appealing enough to grace magazine covers failed to compare with Bane. His was a body she could get lost in, one whose embrace allowed her to forget everything—every responsibility and care, every fear and secret; she could be vulnerable and free. With the others, she had to pretend and control—all of them except Dominic. Yet even with Dominic, she had felt superior. Bane was her equal and deserving of respect always. With him, she could be completely herself; there was no need for secrets. He was her sanctuary.

            She shifted closer to him. He watched her intently, and she knew he was waiting, waiting for her to let him know that she was ready to renew their sexual relationship. Of course he would wait forever if she asked him to do so. Over the years, he had been with no one but her; she had been his first and perhaps would be his last. Occasionally she had asked Barsad—Bane’s constant companion—if Bane ever sought female companionship of any kind or if women ever offered themselves to him, but always Barsad said the same thing, “You’re the only woman he’s interested in, Talia. I don’t think that’ll ever change.”

            She had often wished, for Bane’s sake, that it had changed. He deserved so much more than she could give him, a woman who prostituted herself for a cause. No matter how worthy the cause, she was tainted. Though Bane never looked at it that way, she knew he hated the role she had played in Gotham. Barsad had told her how Bane reacted to her sleeping with Bruce Wayne, their sworn enemy and the man who had killed her father. She had taken no pleasure in the act; like the men before him, Wayne unwittingly served a purpose for the League. Purposefully her Miranda Tate had seduced the billionaire, playing him perfectly to get him to fall in love with her. When he had discovered her true identity at the last—the moment after she had plunged her father’s knife to the hilt in his side—the pain in his eyes and voice had been sweet nectar to her. She had drunk it in with dizzying pleasure, her revenge complete…almost. Wayne had died; unfortunately, Gotham had survived.

            She feared no physical rejection from Bane now; his erection dispelled any doubts, as well as the love in his unblinking gaze, the deep rise and fall of his chest. But still she hesitated. Was it right to do this after the way she had used him? Was it selfish? He might think her display driven only by guilt and pity. Yes, perhaps guilt did play some small role, but in truth she wanted him, as much now as she had their first night together, when she had feared never seeing him again. She had been so young and foolish then, barely a woman. Perhaps she was being foolish now, too.

            Her hands slipped along the rock-like ridge of his trapezoid muscles. She felt his heat not only through her touch but emanating from his entire body. His face had taken on a slight flush.

            “I won’t blame you if you reject me now,” she murmured, diverting her gaze from his. “I know sleeping with Bruce Wayne—”

            Unexpectedly he grabbed her hand, quickly drawing her stare to him. His eyes had turned stormy. “Do not speak his name,” he said strongly but without menace. “His or the others. Not here.” Gently he brought her hand to the mask’s grating, as if to kiss it. “It was Miranda Tate who did those things, not you, _habibati_. I recognize that; so must you. You must forgive yourself.”

            Unconvinced, she allowed a nod.

            “And know that I would never reject you,” he continued. “Not in anything, for any reason. Here, lying beside you—there is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

            Talia smiled her appreciation and embraced him. His massive arms encircled her, pressed her to him. His erection, firm between them, fired her need for him even more, encouraging her to move her hips in a gentle grind. A gush of moisture soaked her panties, and in the next instant his hand was there. His touch against her most sensitive regions drew a gasp from her and a quiet growl of pleasure from deep in his throat.

            “It has been too long,” he murmured through the mask. “You must never make me wait again, _habibati_.”

            “No,” she whispered then bathed his closed eyes and the mask in kisses. “But we must be quiet lest our brothers hear us.”

            “Tonight I don’t care if the whole world hears.”

            Over the years they had kept their physical relationship from their League brethren; only Barsad knew. In an organization where marriage was not allowed, they felt it necessary for morale and integrity as the organization’s leaders to keep their few rendezvouses a secret. Whenever they had slaked their lust for one another it had been in the isolation of her grandmother’s palace compound.

            Now, seeing the blaze of passion in Bane’s eyes, Talia’s own fire consumed her caution, making her realize that she agreed with his statement. Besides, their brothers were no fools. After these weeks of she and Bane being with one another every day, their followers no doubt suspected more than loyalty bound them together.

            When Bane pulled away her panties, Talia tugged his pants off his hips then gripped his penis to rub its head against her slick folds.

            As always, she regretted that he left his mask on—only once in the past had she convinced him to remove it during their lovemaking—but she understood his unwillingness to reveal the ruination beneath it as well as the inconvenient requirement that he inject himself with morphine in order to do so. She longed to kiss what was left of his lips as she rubbed against him, saw the same desire in his eyes as he drew her chemise over her head. His finger trailed along her ear, sending a shiver through her, then caressed her cheek, sliding inexorably toward her lips, touching them so tenderly, closing his eyes, imagining. It was his way of kissing her. She opened her mouth, inviting him inside and sucking sensually.

            “Lie back,” she crooned, then straddled him, guided him inside her. His girth filled her up, and she sighed, realizing how much she had missed this, how lacking her other lovers had been. She had been a fool to deny herself and Bane these pleasures.

            Bane’s hands engulfed her breasts, warmed them in the chilly room, kneaded them, teased her nipples. Talia closed her eyes, smiled, and began to move her hips. Bane had always been a man with amazing control in all things, including the sex act, but she could see that tonight he wanted nothing to do with delaying his release. And she would not expect patience from him, not now, not after having waited so very long to be with her. So she rode him harder now, hard and fast. Her fingernails dug into his arms as his fingers tighten upon her breasts. His back arched, and he groaned, the animal sound of it increasing her fervor. Talia’s moans rose in volume and pitch as her body responded to their unified movements until finally neither could restrain themselves any longer, and their outcries echoed in the room.

#

            Barsad awoke in the night, senses instantly alert. He listened. What was it this time? Was Talia having another nightmare? He waited. Nothing. Irritated by awakening needlessly, he shoved back the blankets and shuffled into the adjoining bathroom to take a piss.

            Just as he returned to bed, a distant sound caused him to pause with one knee on the mattress.

            “Fuck it,” he mumbled and padded to the door.

            He stuck his head out into the hallway, listened again. A murmuring from beyond Talia’s closed door. Soundlessly, Barsad slipped across the corridor, paused outside her door with his ear close. Bane’s voice, very low, not conversational, barely heard. The squeak of bedsprings. Talia’s voice, but no words, just…quiet moans.

            Barsad’s spine stiffened with sudden realization. Was he hearing right? He held his breath, frowning with concentration. The noise of the bed became rhythmic, Talia’s moans louder.

            _Shit…_

            Barsad fled back to his room and quietly shut the door. He paused with his back pressed against it. The noises from Talia’s room had been blunted, but if he listened close, he could still hear them having sex.

            “Well, I’ll be God-damned,” he muttered.

            Grinning, he returned to his bed.


	3. Chapter 3

            The sprawling palace compound where Talia’s grandmother lived lay west of Jaipur, India, near the Thar Desert, near a nondescript, dusty town. Barsad was very familiar with the region as well as the palace, for he had lived there for many years in the employ of Maysam’s warlord husband, Siddig El Fadil.

            Barsad had been comfortable in his job, working his way up to head of security, but over time he had become bored, as he often did when he remained in one place for any length of time. Then Bane had come along, freshly excommunicated from the League by Rā’s al Ghūl, Talia’s father. Bane had sought Maysam’s help to find work, and she had introduced him to Barsad, who had just resigned his position to return to life as a mercenary. Bane had joined him, and together they had gone to fight in the Kargil War in Pakistan.

            Boredom had not been the only thing that drove Barsad from the palace. During his time there he and Maysam had risked a brief affair, and though they had ended it sometime before he left, there had been the possibility that her husband would discover the liaison. If he had, Barsad knew his life would have ended very, very badly. But after Siddig died, Barsad returned to the palace regularly with Bane and Talia, a place of leisure. And a refuge after the disaster in Gotham.

            Now, as the chauffeured car that transported him with Talia and Bane neared the palace compound, Barsad smiled to himself at the prospect of seeing Talia’s grandmother. Maysam was a beautiful woman of dark complexion and mysterious, honey-brown eyes. In her seventies now, time had barely diminished that beauty. Yes, there were a few lines and some silver hairs, but those only added to her distinguished bearing.

            “I know what that smile is about,” Talia’s voice from the rear seat pulled Barsad from his reverie.

            Bane chuckled, causing Barsad’s face to redden.

            “You’re both full of shit,” Barsad said to deflect the attention.

            With a glance at them before looking back out the windshield, he noted that Talia was holding Bane’s hand. The sight pleased him because it gave him hope that their romp in the sack had renewed their relationship. Barsad preferred to be around Bane when he was content rather than when he behaved like the surly beast that he had been for so many recent months.

            “So,” Barsad boldly said to keep the focus off himself, “are you two sharing a bedroom this time around?”

            “That won’t be appropriate in Maysam’s home,” Bane said.

            “Appropriate?” Barsad laughed. “You slept together enough here before; it won’t be news to Maysam.”

            “I was in the guesthouse then,” Bane pointed out. “These past months we have slept in the main palace, brother, in separate bedrooms. Surely you haven’t forgotten this in one short week.”

            “ _Jiddah_ won’t mind,” Talia assured. “ _She_ may adhere to her conservative religion, but she’s never expected us to.”

            “See, Bane? Talia agrees with me.”

            Bane scowled. “I don’t see how any of this is your concern, brother.”

            “It is my concern, you stubborn s.o.b. Call me sentimental, but I like to see you happy for a change. Makes my life easier, you know.”

            “Perhaps we should have left you back at _’Eth Alth’eban_ ,” Bane grumbled.

            Barsad exchanged a conspiratorial grin with Talia. “Where you go, I go, brother. Nothing’s ever going to change that. Talia’s orders, after all. Gotta obey ’em, just like you.” He winked at Talia, happy to see her smile again. Maybe this was the beginning of her recovery.

            Barsad’s first priority since being initiated into the League was protecting and supporting the League’s field commander, Bane. From their early days together in Pakistan where Bane had saved his life for the first time, Barsad had grown to love the cantankerous hulk like a brother, and as an extension of that relationship Barsad cared for Talia. He couldn’t always say he loved her, though, and that was because of her tumultuous history with Bane. Since meeting Talia after the death of her father, he had mixed feelings about her. Unlike Bane, he privately viewed her as often selfish, manipulative, and almost arrogant, and in some ways abusive when he considered the way she toyed with Bane’s feelings during the Gotham operation. Most of the time, though, he understood why Bane still cared for her; she could be warm and loving, especially when she was at Maysam’s home. And she certainly was easy on the eyes and no doubt a siren between the sheets. He wouldn’t be a man if he hadn’t had thoughts of being in bed with her…not that he would ever mention such fantasies to anyone, least of all Bane.

            Bane did not mind Barsad’s cheekiness during their ride to the palace; he was used to it after all these years and expected nothing less. But that did not mean he had to show amusement, only tolerance. He preferred to focus on Talia right now and enjoy the fact that she was holding his hand, especially since she had initiated their contact.

            Thinking back to last night, Bane privately smiled. Their lovemaking had gone on until dawn when he had fallen asleep, sated and happy for the first time in seemingly forever. Awakening a couple of hours later, he was alone in Talia’s bed, for she had gone to take a shower. He had considered joining her but instead slipped away to his own room, giving her space and forcing no expectations upon her.

            Basking in the warmth of his own shower, reluctant to wash away her scent, Bane had reflected upon their romp. She had surprised him in many ways. After their initial coupling where he allowed her to dictate, he found himself taking over, and Talia encouraged him with a whispered, “Take me,” breathed between kisses. He found that he had to slow himself down and curb his ravenous appetite, fueled by a desire to reclaim her as his own, to make her forget about Miranda Tate’s lovers, especially Bruce Wayne.

            As they had prepared to leave _’Eth Alth’eban_ , he had wondered if their night of passion was to be a passing fancy, a mere interlude like the other nights they had spent together after she had begun her life as Miranda Tate. But now, hearing Talia talk of sharing a room at the palace, he felt a boyish stirring of hope, of romantic foolishness, that perhaps last night was a new beginning.

            Barsad had abandoned teasing Bane and had embarked on a safer pastime—engaging their chauffeur, an Indian in his late forties. When the League’s private jet had landed at a remote airstrip some thirty kilometers from the palace, Barsad had been glad to see Faran waiting for them. Breaking with the acceptable practice of the driver being alone in the front of the vehicle, Barsad had sat in the passenger seat, something that both pleased and discomfited the chauffeur lest he be held responsible for Barsad’s position. Barsad had known Faran for many years now. In fact, he had recruited the man from the slums of Jaipur to become the palace chauffeur, just as he had found others for various positions in the household—all poverty-stricken people who owed their lives and the lives of their families to the benevolence of Siddig El Fadil and his wife.

            Hiring the poorest of the poor had been Maysam’s idea. A shrewd plan. The employees’ financial situations ensured that they would do anything to maintain their jobs and thus their families’ survival. Because of that, they were willingly loyal, and if they did indeed maintain thoughts of being anything else, they knew enough about their employer to understand that punishment wouldn’t simply mean a return to the slums—it would mean a torturous death for themselves as well as all those they held dear.

            “How is your family, Faran?” Barsad now asked.

            “They are well, sir. Thank you.”

            “And everyone at the palace? Anything happen since we’ve been gone?”

            “The master has returned.”

            Barsad scowled at the thought of Siddig’s brother, Amir, who had taken over his older brother’s position upon Siddig’s death. Barsad had never liked Amir the Snake—as he and Amir’s enemies called him—mainly because of the way he had treated Maysam in the past. Some of Amir’s behavior toward her had been orchestrated by Amir’s wife, Iba. When the woman had grown even bolder in her efforts to kick Maysam out of the palace and out of the family’s finances, Bane had taken matters into his own hands, literally and figuratively—he had strangled the life out of Iba. It was a clear message to Amir that if he didn’t want the same thing to happen to him he should leave Maysam in peace, to live out her life in her husband’s home. Of course, Amir had no proof that Bane was his wife’s murderer, but he got the message nonetheless and begrudgingly allowed Maysam her own space in the palace.

            “Does Amir know we’re coming back?” Barsad asked Faran.

            A tiny grin appeared in one corner of the driver’s mouth. “Yes, sir.”

            “I bet he’s thrilled.” Barsad returned the grin.

            “Oh, yes, sir.”

            Barsad chuckled. Sure, Faran was loyal to Amir, but that didn’t mean he liked him. The same could be said for most who knew _Al Thu’ban._

            Barsad’s amusement, however, hid the concerns he had about Amir ultimately selling Bane out to those who hunted him for his crimes in Gotham. The only thing that kept Amir in line was the knowledge that exposing Bane would also expose himself and his own crimes to the authorities. Well, perhaps not the _only_ thing. There was one thing Amir feared even more than losing his empire and jeopardizing his family’s legacy—Bane. Barsad figured Bane was in fact the _only_ man Amir feared. A son of a bitch, Barsad considered, but not a stupid one.

            “The mistress is pleased about your return,” Faran was saying. He glanced at Barsad. That tiny grin again. “All of you.”

            “Is that so?”

            “Yes, sir. She did not want you to leave in the first place. She’s been very sad and quiet these past days. When I took her into Jaipur the other day, she did very little shopping and came home early.”

            Talia said, “That’s certainly not like her. _Jiddah_ does enjoy her shopping.”

            “Yes, ma’am. But she has been worried about you since you left. You know how she is.”

            “Well,” Bane rumbled, “she doesn’t have to worry. We are back where she wants us.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Once inside the walls of the palace compound, Faran drove up to one of the archways of the _Diwan-i-Khas_ , the private audience hall. He parked as close as possible so the occupants of the car could slip out without being exposed to any eyes in the sky from drones or other surveillance means.

            In the archway, back just enough to remain out of the boiling August sun, a solitary figure stood, garbed in traditional Muslim dress, only her face and hands exposed. Barsad smiled at the sight of Maysam.

            Though Maysam appeared serene as the passengers left the car, internally she was eager and impatient to hold her granddaughter again. Seeing Talia lifted the weight of anxiety Maysam had felt since her granddaughter had departed a week ago.

            Talia hugged her as if they had not seen each other in a year. With eyes closed, Maysam tightened her embrace.

            “I’m so pleased you have all returned,” Maysam said, giving her a final squeeze before they parted. “My family is back together again, just as this old woman prefers. I had been spoiled having you here for so long before.” She touched Talia’s cheek, instantly feeling younger and stronger with her near. “I’m glad you convinced Haris and John to return with you,” Maysam added, using the Arabic name she had given to Bane years ago, a name that meant protector.

            Maysam reached for Bane’s hands, clasping them, feeling his amazing mixture of both power and gentleness, something she knew was reserved only for herself and Talia. His eyes crinkled with delight, as did hers. They refrained from embracing, however, outside the privacy of the palace in front of a servant like Faran. No, such public familial displays by a Muslim woman to someone not of her blood was something even Maysam did not allow. But privately she treated Bane with all the warmth and love she would show if he were her son. Indeed, she loved him as a son and told him that often, knowing it greatly pleased him. Seeing him lying near death in her home all those weeks had devastated her, though she had done her best to remain upbeat and positive for Talia’s and Barsad’s sakes.

            “Welcome home, Haris,” she said.

            “I regret we must burden you further with our presence.”

            “Nonsense. Your presence is a gift.”

            “I was referring to Barsad,” Bane quipped.

            His unexpected humor made all of them laugh, including Barsad, who again turned red in the face. Maysam took his hands, those very familiar hands, ones she still remembered caressing her body long, long ago.

            “We both know better than to listen to Haris on this, John.”

            She enjoyed the happiness in Barsad’s heavy-lidded eyes; “bedroom eyes,” Talia had once called them during a private conversation. Glacial blue, with a quick ability to twinkle, especially when he was teasing those whom he loved. His even temper and good nature were qualities that had attracted Maysam to him those years ago. Her husband had been unpredictable, quick-tempered, and often ill-humored, so John Barsad had offered a startling contrast. In fact, it was Barsad’s level-headedness that had caused Siddig to hire him, that along with Barsad’s reputation for marksmanship. Maysam had been around guns ever since she had married Siddig, but she had never seen anyone as skilled as Barsad. He had saved her husband’s life multiple times as well as her own once.

            Maysam squeezed Barsad’s calloused hands before freeing him. “Let us get out of this heat, shall we? Faran will have your bags brought in.”

            She led them across the marble floor of the audience hall, the elegant crystal chandeliers unlit and unneeded with the day’s sunlight through the multiple archways. A cross breeze ruffled Barsad’s hair, and unexpectedly he remembered Maysam’s fingers trailing through his hair long ago when they were lovers. To keep his memories from delving deeper, he admired the hall’s sandstone-colored walls and ceiling with its elaborate cream-colored trim. A few regional artifacts decorated the walls but otherwise the space was unadorned.

            A courtyard opened before them, surrounded by protective walls three-stories high, designed to look like buildings but in reality just facades. This space they crossed quickly, exposed to the brutal sun. Passing through an open gateway, they entered another, more open courtyard that faced the palace.

            Six stories high, the palace stretched to either side, as if welcoming them with open arms. Its stone masonry gleamed a pale yellow against the deepening blue of the sky, trimmed in white with dark maroon around its many windows, the railings of its various verandas painted the same maroon or white. The palace was centuries old, its architectural style a mixture of Rajput and Islamic with occasional hints of European influence, such variety revealing its expansion over time under the tastes of different owners. It had been in Siddig’s family for several generations, acquired through the blood and treasure of their enemies.

            Armed security forces were stationed throughout the palace complex on any given day, but now that Bane and Talia were back, Barsad knew such forces had been doubled both inside the compound and out, including men from the League of Shadows. Moving past two such guards at the palace’s main doors, the four entered the cool environment of the palace.

            Maysam led them to a resplendent, red-carpeted staircase, Talia beside her. The two women chattered between themselves as they ascended. Servants who saw them quickly diverted their eyes.

            When they reached the second floor, they squeezed into a small elevator that took them to the fifth floor—Maysam’s domain.

            “We’ll have some refreshments,” Maysam said, “while we wait for supper. You can relax from your travels.”

            She led them to her salon, a room more intimate than most in the palace. It had only one window, and that bore heavy draperies of red and gold that kept out the sun in the mornings. Now the curtains were thrown open, revealing the evening sky, which had just begun to blush a pale pink. Scarlet Persian rugs covered the floor, trimmed in black with varied white designs. Burnt-orange-colored walls matched the cushions of the furniture, which bore broad stripes alternating with red. The wooden chairs were inviting, large enough for someone even of Bane’s size. Vases throughout the salon displayed colorful sprays of floral arrangements and greenery.

            “Sanjana should be here any minute with something cool for us to drink,” Maysam said as she settled gracefully into a chair. “Or would you prefer tea?”

            “Something cold sounds more appealing,” Talia said, sharing a loveseat with Bane while Barsad sat in a chair across from Maysam, a small table between them.

            “I hear Amir is home,” Barsad said, trying to keep the sneer from his voice.

            “Yes, John. But don’t worry,” Maysam fought a coy smile, “he won’t be having supper with us.” She sighed and looked to her granddaughter. “I must say again how glad I am you’ve returned to me. But I’m sorry to hear of the reason.”

            “No need for concern, _Jiddah_ ,” Talia said. “I’m sure the nightmares are a passing thing. Bane worries about me too much; I hope he didn’t alarm you when he called.”

            “He worries because you are too stubborn for your own good,” Maysam said. “Like your mother. You mustn’t scold Haris; he did the right thing by bringing you back to me.”

            “But I fear for you if you’re connected to us.”

            “We’ve discussed this many times before. I am just as safe as you here,” Maysam insisted. “Between my security and the safety measures put in place by the League, nothing will harm us. You will stay here as long as you need to.”

            “Speaking of the League,” Talia eagerly changed the subject, “there’s something I need your help with, _Jiddah_.”

            “Talia,” Bane growled, instantly knowing what she was about, having expected this once back here with Maysam.

            “I was trying to convince Bane to take command of the League,” Talia rushed on. “I believe I should step down. It would be best for everyone.”

            “There is no need to include your grandmother in this decision,” Bane said. “This is a League matter.”

            “I disagree. I discuss all personal matters with _Jiddah_ , and this is as much personal as business. Don’t you agree, Barsad?”

            Eyes flitting to all three of his companions in turn, Barsad struggled to answer, his mouth moving like a fish out of water. The very subject had blindsided him.

            Maysam recovered first, a small, relieved smile enlivening the corners of her lips. She had never wanted Talia to assume her father’s mantle, nor had she approved of Talia’s suicide mission in Gotham. “Why do you think you should relinquish your position, _hafida_? Because of your injuries?”

            “There are many reasons,” Talia said. “The main one being that I’m no longer worthy of such a position. Bane, however, is.”

            “There is no one worthier than you,” Bane said, restraining himself from taking her hand, afraid that touching her would give her power over him. “But this is not the time to discuss this.”

            Talia hesitated, took in Bane’s disgruntled expression, Barsad’s shock, and her grandmother’s hopefulness, and knew she had accomplished what she needed for now. She was confident of at least her grandmother’s aid in her cause. Barsad, however, was a wildcard. Of course he would support Bane’s ascendance, yet he would also be reluctant to back such a thing if Bane himself was dead-set against it.

            “Very well,” Talia said with bowed head, feigning contrition.

            A gentle knock at the door drew Maysam’s invitation. A serving girl entered, one Barsad had never seen before. This fact, coupled with the young woman’s quiet beauty, drew his interest as she carried a silver tray with glasses and a pitcher across the room. Setting the tray on the table in front of Barsad, she proceeded to pour lemonade into the glasses.

            Maysam spoke in Hindi to the servant: “Thank you, Sanjana,” then to her guests in English, “Fresh squeezed from our own trees, of course.”

            Though Sanjana’s plain loose clothing robbed Barsad of fully enjoying the rear view as she bent over, it was easy enough to imagine she was slim and shapely.

            “And did you squeeze them yourself, Sanjana?” Barsad asked in Hindi, grinning.

            Though members of the household rarely spoke to the servants of things other than their duties, Barsad had never been one to look upon the staff as invisible, inferior beings; his American heritage rebelled against such prejudices and hierarchy. This practice, however, would be altogether unexpected and shocking to a servant, and Sanjana’s dark face revealed just such an expression as she straightened from pouring the drinks. Her large coffee-brown eyes flicked to him for only an instant.

            Understanding the constraints on the servant, Talia scolded, “Barsad, don’t tease the girl.” In Hindi, she said, “You must excuse our American friend, Sanjana. He can be crass.” But a hint of amusement sparked in Talia’s eyes when she glanced at Barsad.

            After Sanjana had made her quick exit, Barsad chuckled to himself and said, “I’ve never seen her before, Maysam. Someone new?”

            “Yes, just this week.” Her lips pursed with enjoyment. “You like her?”

            He pretended to be disinterested by shrugging and reaching for a glass. “You might look for ones that aren’t pretty. Might tempt your brother otherwise.”

            Maysam chuckled. “Ayman knows better. His wife would make him regret it for the rest of his life.”

            “Well, what about Amir?”

            Maysam’s mirth died immediately. “Amir knows not to interfere with anything that belongs to me.”

            Amused, Barsad glanced at Bane. “I’m sure he does.” He sipped the cool, tart drink, thinking of Sanjana’s full lips. He banished her from his thoughts, though, for somehow in Maysam’s presence such erotic ramblings seemed entirely wrong and disloyal.

            “Speaking of Ayman,” Talia said, “will he be joining us for supper, _Jiddah_?”

            “No, I want us to be alone.” Maysam knew this would please all of them, for Ayman—a staunch traditionalist—had never approved of her close relationship with Bane and Barsad, and conversation with him present always curtailed many topics. “And speaking of supper,” Maysam turned to Bane, “I insist that you _eat_ with us, Haris.”

            Her request did not altogether take Bane by surprise, for she often petitioned him to remove his mask and share meals with them. Normally he ate in private before or after the others, and merely sat at table for the social aspect, for he had no desire to reveal his damaged visage to Maysam lest he ruin her appetite nor did he want to encourage needless solicitations from her.

            “I think it best we maintain our usual practices,” he gently but firmly said.

            “Nonsense. We are beyond such foolishness. It is shameful pride on your part, Haris. As your hostess, I insist you eat with us.”

            “Maysam, I respectfully—”

            “Oh, for Godsake, Bane,” Barsad interrupted without malice, “let’s not rehash all this for the hundredth time. Just do as she asks. She saw you without your mask when you were in a coma. How many times do we have to remind you?”

            “Yes, brother,” Bane grumbled with a dark glare, “but she was not sitting down to eat.”

            Talia touched his arm then took his hand, surprising him and instantly calming him. “They’re right, Bane. Please. We all wish you would. And considering all that _Jiddah_ has done for us, don’t insult her by refusing her request again.”

            “My refusals are never meant as an insult but as a favor.”

            “Of course,” Maysam soothed. “But there is no need. Please, Haris, indulge an old woman.”

            With everyone’s stare intent upon him, Bane growled to himself, squirmed, hesitated longer. Talia squeezed his hand. “Very well,” he muttered, barely audible if not for the mask’s mechanical amplification.

            “There, was that so hard?” Barsad teased.

            Bane glowered at him. Barsad chuckled, and Maysam smiled. Only Talia’s kiss to the back of Bane’s hand consoled him.

            “ _Jiddah_ ,” Talia said, eager to change the subject for Bane’s sake. “No doubt you’ve prepared our old rooms, yes?”

            “Of course, my dear.”

            “Well,” Talia glanced at Bane, saw that he realized where she was going, hope extinguishing his unrest over the previous discussion, “if it’s acceptable with you, Bane and I would like to share a room. Or am I speaking out of turn, Bane?”

            Stunned, Bane nearly stammered when he answered, “No, _habibati_ , of course you are not.”

            It was Maysam who appeared the most stunned, mouth slightly agape for a moment before she recovered her composure. “Well…I…yes, yes, of course it’s acceptable.”

            “Are you sure?” Talia asked. “We don’t want to cause any trouble for you with Ayman or Amir.”

            “This floor of the palace is my domain,” Maysam said. “I shall please my guests however I see fit.”

            “Well,” Talia said, “if you are certain…”

            “Of course.” Maysam smiled warmly. “I’m happy to accommodate you both. In fact, you may have the suite of rooms that my husband and I used to share.” Something sparkled in her eyes when she glanced at Barsad’s surprised face.

            “There’s no need for such extravagance,” Bane said. “We will be happy with one of the rooms we’ve used before.”

            “Nonsense, Haris. I insist.” Maysam stood. “Now excuse me for a moment while I instruct Hisham and Sanjana to prepare the suite for you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Subjecting Maysam to the grotesqueness of his scarred and torn face was only one of the reasons why Bane always refused to remove his mask for shared meals. Being without it was like peeling away a protective layer and exposing a weakness. True, those who saw him unmasked were his trusted loved ones, but even with them, he felt flawed and less formidable. And then there was the look in Talia’s eyes whenever she saw his damaged face—the guilt she carried since the day he had suffered the attack while protecting her as she climbed out of the pit. She tried to hide her guilt because Bane had scolded her many times for it. He had assured her that her guilt was misplaced. Things had happened that day as they were meant to happen. If he had not battled the other prisoners and kept them busy, some may have climbed after her and pulled her down to her death…or worse. If he had to, he would do it over and over again. He had no regrets he insisted whenever she mourned the destruction of his once-attractive face.

            He thought of those discussions as he dug into his medical supply bag in his former bedroom in the palace. Hisham had not yet taken Bane’s belongings to the suite he would share with Talia. No doubt Hisham and Sanjana were still feverishly preparing the rooms that had been shut up since Siddig’s death.

            Bane turned his musings from the past to the present, to wonderful anticipation of sleeping with Talia again tonight. Behind the mask, he smiled over Maysam’s immediate agreement to Talia’s request. The older woman’s compliance had not surprised him. After all, during the months of his recuperation he and Maysam had shared several private conversations about Talia. Maysam knew the depth of Bane’s love for her granddaughter, now even more than she had before he had come here after the Gotham disaster.

            “Has Talia ever spoken to you about Dominic LePage?” Bane had asked her.

            “Just once—the last time you were both here before returning to Gotham the final time.”

            “May I ask what she said to you?”

            “She said she loved him. But she was conflicted. She wasn’t sure she understood what real love was, that she had never experienced it in that way, in the way _normal_ people did. And she knew she should tell you about LePage but was afraid to because it would hurt you.”

            “And because she was afraid I would kill her lover?” Bane cocked an eyebrow.

            Maysam frowned. “Yes, that did concern her. But I encouraged her to be honest with you. I didn’t want you to be hurt either, but I figured the hurt would be greater if she didn’t tell you the truth. I maintained she couldn’t hide such a thing from you, that you would know because you know her so well. And I admit to my own concerns about her choice. I knew your judgment of the man would be sound and in Talia’s best interest.”

            “And after his death, did she tell you of her accusations against me?”

            Maysam bowed her head. “Yes.”

            “And did you believe her?”

            “I suspected she was right, but I never told her as much. Like I said, I trusted your judgment of the man, so if you had put an end to him I knew you had good reason.”

            “My reasons were mainly selfish ones, I admit. Yes, I had my concerns about LePage when it came to the mission and Talia’s safety in maintaining her Miranda Tate persona, but mainly I could not bear the thought of a man like LePage beguiling my _habibati_. No one is worthy of her.”

            “One is.” Maysam smiled mildly. “You, my son.”

            “No. Not even I, especially after I betrayed her and had LePage killed. She has not forgiven me for that.”

            “I disagree.”

            “Has she said something to you about it?” Bane tried to keep hope from his question.

            “I believe she has come to understand your motivations better, now that she is away from that horrible city and its influence on her mind.”

            “I hurt her deeply, Maysam. Never before had I done so. Because of those consequences, I regretted my decision, yet I knew it had been for the best.”

            “That is what wounded her most, I think—the fact that _you_ had gone against her wishes and had taken something from her that she held dear. As you said, you had never injured her before then. It took her so by surprise; she did not think you capable.”

            “Neither did I,” he murmured. “The Gotham operation changed me as well. I also regret allowing that. I should have been stronger.”

            “No more regrets for either of you, Haris. I hope now that Gotham is behind you both, you will heal. And I pray that one day my granddaughter will allow herself to love someone…to love you.”

            “I don’t doubt her love.”

            “I’m not talking about her love for you as a brother but as a man, as a lover.”

            Bane shook his head. “I am too old for her, Maysam. She deserves someone younger, someone not hindered by this.” He gestured scornfully to the mask.

            “Is that the real reason why you won’t consider the reconstructive surgery? You don’t think yourself worthy of her no matter what you do?”

            “The surgery would require risk, both professionally and personally. I am currently unwilling to take those risks.”

            “But, as Talia said, freeing you of the mask would help ensure your safety—the world knows you as the Masked Man. You could reclaim your anonymity.”

            “I have my doubts about that, as I’m sure you do. In any form, the world will not soon forget me.”

            “Well, then, Mr. Stubborn, there are other reasons to have the surgery, as you know. It would eventually free you of your dependence upon opioids and their side effects. You have been a slave to them for so long you’ve forgotten what life can be like without such suffering. If you won’t think of yourself, think of Talia; she hates watching your torment. You know how she blames herself for it. If you won’t have the surgery for yourself, then consider it for her sake.” Maysam winked. “And Barsad’s. He worries about you, too, you know.”

            “I am well aware of Barsad’s mother hen tendencies.”

            Maysam chuckled. “Now, Haris, he is not that way with everyone—just those he loves.”

            A brief knock on his bedroom door pulled Bane from these memories. Before he could answer, Barsad barged in, saying, “Turn the TV on.”

            Bane scowled at his friend’s intrusive behavior. “What is it?”

            “ _Al Thi’b_ has struck again.”

            Barsad had crossed the room and taken up the remote control. Turning on the television, he had no need to search the channels— _Al_ _Jazeera_ was broadcasting live pictures of the latest attack by the notorious terrorist, Ibrahim Darzi, more commonly referred to as The Wolf or _Al Thi’b_ in Arabic. A split screen showed two different locations, both which were baseball stadiums. No games were being played, however. Instead of playing fields, the baseball diamonds appeared as battlefields, with casualties being tended to by civilians and medical personnel in mirrored, chaotic scenes of blood and shock.

            “Multiple suicide bombers as well as conventional explosives,” Barsad informed. “Dozens killed and wounded. Pretty damn bold.”

            “Has _Al Thi’b_ already taken responsibility?”

            “Yeah.”

            There had been other attacks on soft targets in the past year by Darzi and his _Al Qaeda_ cells, all in the United States, but this appeared to be his most ambitious.

            In silence, Bane and Barsad watched the coverage for a few minutes, gathering the basics of the two attacks.

            “Well,” Barsad said, “at least he’s taken attention off you as the most hated man of the moment.”

            Bane only grunted as he listened to the reports, eyes intent on the television. He felt nothing for the victims and no admiration for the perpetrator or his tactics. Suicide bombers were a waste of assets to Bane, a coward’s arsenal. True, members of the League died in the line of duty, but it was through combat, not the disdainful practice of walking among unarmed, unsuspecting civilians and pushing a button. There was no honor in such a thing. Bane grunted again and grinned coldly behind the mask when he considered that some would look upon the nuclear bomb threat against Gotham as being on the same low level as suicide bombers.

            There had been a time when Osama bin Laden himself had tried to convince Bane to join forces with _Al Qaeda_. That had been years ago, before Rā’s al Ghūl’s death and Bane’s return to the League. He had been operating in Chechnya with hundreds of rebel fighters under his command, hampering the Russians. Many of Bane’s fighters were Muslims, and bin Laden coveted them, for Bane had trained them well, every last one of them valuable to any commander who could acquire and retain their loyalty. Though Bane had listened to bin Laden’s proposal, he had declined the highly lucrative offer. He had never really planned to work with the notorious terrorist but had thought it valuable to meet the mysterious, powerful man. In Bane’s line of work, it never hurt to plant seeds that might later reap a fruitful harvest when and if lean times arose. After all, the conflict in Chechnya could not go on forever, and he had no idea what the future would then hold for him and Barsad. Fortunately, those lean times had never materialized. After Chechnya had come other, more appealing and equally profitable work. Not that Bane valued money for his personal gain, but he understood the power behind such assets.

            “We’d better head to the dining room before Maysam sends Hisham to hunt us down,” Barsad broke Bane’s concentration on the television coverage.

            “Just so, brother. She is infinitely more important than this.” He waved at the television then turned to his medical bag. “Go ahead. I merely have to inject my dose, then I will join you.”

            Barsad paused at the door. “I’m glad you’re joining us. It means a lot to Maysam.”

            “Indeed. I decided it was a simple way to show her my appreciation for allowing us sanctuary once again.”

            Barsad nodded and stepped into the hallway. Making his way to the dining room, Barsad frowned. Though he loved seeing Maysam again, he didn’t feel comfortable being here because of the danger their presence forced upon her. Talia… She shouldn’t have allowed Bane to come back. While Barsad understood why Talia couldn’t remain at _’Eth Alth’eban_ , he wished there had been some other place to go. But where? The whole world was hunting them. The country of his birth wouldn’t rest until Bane and Talia were found. Both the Federal government and Gotham’s officials had been incensed and embarrassed by the fact that neither the body of Bane nor Talia had been found, thus leading all to believe that they lived still. And if they did indeed live, then America would feel threatened until Bane and Talia were killed or arrested.

            The prospect of his own arrest or death didn’t concern Barsad; only the thought of Maysam being implicated did. The situation almost made him angry with Talia and with Bane for his eternal devotion to her, but whenever such thoughts touched him, as they did now, he quickly berated himself and turned his attention elsewhere. And right now that was to their meal, which he could smell long before he walked into the dining room where Maysam and Talia were alone, talking.

            The crystal chandelier above the formally-set table cast muted light, and Barsad figured this detail was calculated—Maysam would think Bane more comfortable with his disfigurements kept from the revealing blare of full light. The sheer curtains had been drawn to diffuse the failing glow of the evening sun through the three large windows on one wall. The effect deepened the pale blue décor. Quiet classical music—Boccherini, if Barsad wasn’t mistaken—flowed from hidden speakers situated around the dining room. Another thoughtful detail on Maysam’s part; she knew how soothing such music was to Bane. The genre always brought back warm memories of Bane’s years spent at the League’s base in Bhutan where one of his brother’s had often entertained the men with his violin.

            Maysam smiled in welcome. “Where’s Haris?”

            “Right behind me. We were watching the coverage of the attacks in the States. Have you seen?”

            “Talia saw a bit of the coverage. She was just telling me.”

            “I told Bane maybe this will take some of the heat off us,” Barsad said.

            Maysam sighed. “That would be a relief.”

            Talia offered her grandmother a brave smile. “We have no fear of them. Do we, Barsad?”

            “That’s right.” He grinned for Maysam’s sake. “There’s only one thing I fear—missing a good meal.” He gestured toward the covered dishes on the table.

            “I had the food brought in already, as you can see. I figured Haris would be more comfortable if we didn’t have the servants in the room with us while he is without his mask.”

            “You think of everything, Maysam.”

            Some of Maysam’s self-confidence waned. “Do you think I pushed too hard with him, John?”

            “No. It’s good for the big grumpy pain in the—er, um, I mean the big grumpy _bear_ to have someone tell him what to do now and then. I try, but he rarely listens to me.”

            Maysam chuckled. “Nonsense. Your counsel is invaluable to him, whether he admits it or not.”

            A moment later the door opened, and Bane entered, still wearing the mask. Maysam frowned in disappointment. Bane shut the door behind him, his attention sweeping the dimly-lit room, as if looking for anyone unwanted. Then he removed the mask. Maysam smiled to herself, relieved. Of course he would have waited until now to take it off, she realized. He would not have come down the hallway unmasked. Too proud for his own good, she thought, then hurried toward him.

            “Haris, let me take that.”

            Not surprisingly, he hesitated, but Maysam was not offended. After all, she knew his reluctance stemmed from survival instinct, not mistrust.

            Her heart broke for him whenever she saw him unmasked, which she had during the early days when he had arrived here following the disaster in Gotham. After his life-saving surgery he had been on a ventilator for several days. After that, while Bane was in a coma, the League’s attending physician had administered all pain medication through IV drips, so the mask had been superfluous.

            With Bane now standing before Maysam with the mask in hand, she gave him a motherly smile. The prisoners’ attack had destroyed much of his nose, and deep lacerations on his cheeks and chin had left crisscrossed scars, now puckered and brown. Savage blows had nearly pulverized his full lips, leaving him now with a permanent grimace. Teeth that had been knocked out or damaged had been replaced by bridge work and implants over time. His torn tongue and gums had eventually healed.

            Maysam reached up to tenderly take his face in her hands. As if knowing her desire, Bane bent at the waist so she could bestow a butterfly-soft kiss on each of his cheeks, cheeks that swiftly flushed, the red rising all the way to his shaved head.

            “You should never hide this beautiful face from me,” she murmured.

            Self-conscious because of her display, Bane cleared his throat. Whenever he spoke without the mask’s modulation, the sound of his natural voice often startled him, as it almost did now. “You must understand that the mask’s vapor is more efficient and less inhibiting than anything I can inject. I don’t…feel like myself without it.”

            “I do understand. But I will enjoy seeing your face and hearing your true voice whenever I can.” With a patient nod, she took the mask from him. “Now, _abni_ , let us eat before the food gets cold.”

            “Yeah,” Barsad grumbled, “what she said. I’m starving while you stand there getting babied.”

            “Now, Barsad,” Talia teased, “don’t be jealous.”

            Maysam chuckled, setting the mask at the end of the rectangular table before stepping to the far end, escorted by Bane. He held her chair for her then did the same for Talia, who sat on Maysam’s right, before he took up his own seat on Maysam’s left.

            “You never hold my chair for _me_ ,” Barsad deadpanned.

            The women laughed.

            “No, brother, it’s more likely I would hit you over the head with it,” Bane said with a spark in his eye. “And deservedly so.”

            The conversation remained light for the first few minutes as they passed the food to one another. Then the discussion turned to the terrorist attacks at the baseball stadiums.

            “I’ll contact Finn after dinner,” Bane said, referring to Finn Donnell, the League’s regional commander in North America, a mercurial Irishman with ink-black eyes and family roots in the Irish Republican Army. “He will surely have more details for us from our brother embedded with _Al Thi’b’s_ men.”

            “But why are you concerned with the attacks?” Maysam asked. “It wasn’t a League operation.”

            “Know your enemies as well as you know your friends,” Barsad recited a familiar quote from Bane.

            “But _Al Thi’b_ is no threat to the League,” Maysam continued.

            “Not that we’re aware of,” Bane said. “But Darzi now has the world’s attention…and mine. These latest attacks were bold…and skillfully executed. Anyone who wields that much power and influence needs to be monitored carefully.”

            “The League’s purpose is to restore and maintain balance in the world,” Talia reminded. “ _Al Thi’b_ disturbs that balance.”

            “But isn’t his agenda similar to the League’s where America is concerned?” Maysam asked.

            “ _Al Thi’b_ subscribes to the same doctrine as many of his Muslim brothers,” Bane said. “It has nothing to do with the greater good and everything to do with forcing religious beliefs upon others. If one does not subscribe to his religion, they have two choices: convert or perish. Forgive me, Maysam, if I sound harsh, but there is nothing about him that remotely reflects the League’s ideals.”

            Maysam artfully changed the subject to a less contentious one, and the meal continued at a leisurely pace. She enjoyed simply listening to the three others talk and banter back and forth, especially Talia. Though her granddaughter was not back to her old self yet, Maysam knew something significant had changed in her during the week that she had been away at the League’s desert sanctuary in Saudi Arabia. Talia was able to smile again. The expressions were small and short-lived, but even that was an improvement over the time of her convalescence here. What had reawakened that fleeting glimpse of happiness? Well, whatever its cause Maysam was greatly relieved and hopeful. There was nothing she wanted more than for her granddaughter to be happy.

            As Talia and Barsad drained their wine glasses, Bane said, “Barsad, why don’t we give the ladies some time to themselves while we have our conference call with Finn? I’m sure they’re tired of our dull presence.”

            “Dull?” Barsad gave a satisfied smack of his lips as he set down his glass. “Speak for yourself, brother.”

            “Will you excuse us?” Bane asked his hostess.

            Maysam knew his need for escape had as much to do with replacing the mask as it did with calling Finn Donnell, but she did not begrudge him this.

            “Will I see you in the salon later?” Maysam asked. “Or perhaps on the veranda after the sun sets?”

            “If you will forgive me, I believe I will call it an early night tonight. Our journey has left me a bit fatigued.”

            Barsad, considering Bane’s night in Talia’s bed, somehow managed to stifle a smirk. “Well, Maysam, the _journey_ didn’t tire me, so I look forward to sitting on the veranda later.”


	5. Chapter 5

            Once Bane and Barsad left the dining room, Maysam and Talia retreated to the salon where coffee awaited them. Sanjana was just leaving the room.

            Once the servant had disappeared into the hall, Maysam smiled coyly and settled into a chair. “I think Sanjana caught John’s eye earlier.”

            “Well, he’s been celibate since Gotham, so undoubtedly he’s feeling a bit…” Talia could not bring herself to say horny in front of her grandmother. She settled for, “Lonely.”

            “Hmm.” Maysam reached to pour the coffee. “Perhaps I should send Sanjana to his room tonight.”

            “ _Jiddah_!”

            “Oh, come now, _hafida_. Don’t pretend you’re scandalized. Besides, I think Sanjana thought John attractive. Didn’t you see how she glanced back at him when she left the room earlier today? And I think she was disappointed just now that he’s not with us.”

            “I think you’re imagining things,” Talia said playfully. “Barsad has always said what a matchmaker you are.”

            “Yes, after all I did bring him and Haris together.” Maysam winked, and Talia laughed. “No, _hafida_ , John deserves more than a servant when it comes to finding a mate. But Sanjana could help him with his…loneliness.”

            “The thought of him with another woman doesn’t bother you?”

            “Of course not. John and I never felt any possession over one another. We didn’t have that type of relationship. Yes, I would feel a little envious of Sanjana or anyone else sharing his bed, but I have no delusions about my age and desirability.”

            “You don’t look your age, and you are still beautiful. You always will be.”

            “You are a sweet child, but I am beyond flattery. I would do anything to make John happy. He served this household faithfully, and he has served you and Haris just as well if not more so. What would have become of Haris if John had not come to his aid after he had been wounded so grievously in Gotham?” She shuddered. “I don’t like to think of how close to death he was…nor you.”

            Talia took the cup of coffee her grandmother offered. “Those days are behind us now.”

            Thoughtfully they sipped their brew.

            “Did you mean what you said earlier—that you want to relinquish your position with the League?”

            Talia rested her cup on the saucer upon her knee, stared at the shimmering black liquid. “Yes, but I don’t feel I can without Bane replacing me. I would feel like I’m betraying my brothers if I left it to anyone less capable. But, as you saw, Bane is against the whole idea.” She met Maysam’s gaze. “That’s why I’m hoping you will help me convince him. Perhaps between you, me, and Barsad he will acquiesce.”

            “John thinks as you do?”

            “I haven’t discussed it directly with him yet, but of course he will think Bane is the most logical and appropriate replacement.”

            “But he knows Haris is against you relinquishing your title, so he might not want to get in the middle.”

            “I know. But I’ve gotten nothing to lose by asking him to help me. If he refuses, then so be it.”

            It struck Maysam that perhaps her granddaughter had returned to Bane’s bed merely as a ploy to make him more pliable to her leadership decision. She knew Talia was highly skilled at getting men to bend to her will, thanks to her beauty, charm, and intellect. She had honed those assets well in Gotham, something Maysam regretted. Never had she wanted her granddaughter to go to Gotham, not because she cared one way or another what happened to the city but because she feared what a life of decadent living would do to Talia. When Talia had told her about her suicide pact, Maysam had pleaded with her to reconsider, telling her it was unnecessary and that only her years living in Gotham had bent her mind to such foolishness. Her tears had almost changed Talia’s mind. In the end, however, her granddaughter had left her to her grief.

            To think of Talia manipulating Bane worried her. No, she told herself, she had seen something genuine in her granddaughter’s eyes when Talia had asked that they be allowed to share a room. And Talia had seemed more at ease and happier than she had when she had left a week ago for Saudi Arabia. Something had definitely happened between the two during their time away.

            Prior to Talia’s and Bane’s recuperation here their visits had never been long in duration. Maysam had known Bane was in love with her granddaughter, but she had done her best not to meddle, understanding that it was a unique, tenuous relationship. Yet during their extended convalescence Maysam got to know Bane even more and to fully realize the depth of his love for Talia. It warmed Maysam to see his gentleness and care with her. Though his injuries had been more severe than hers, he tended to Talia as if she were the one who had lain near death for days on end. Even as Talia tried to convince him that he was fussing over her for nothing, Maysam knew her granddaughter secretly loved the attention. At one point Maysam even had to take him aside and caution him not to coddle Talia lest she not recover as quickly as she could.

            After a brief deliberation Maysam decided to satisfy her concerned curiosity. “ _Hafida_ , may I ask you something?”

            Talia set her coffee cup and saucer back on the table. “Of course.”

            “I hope it will not hurt your feelings or make you angry.”

            “You’ve never done either of those things, _Jiddah_. I’m not afraid of it now.”

            “It’s obvious something happened between you and Haris while you were away.” Maysam watched Talia closely, for she could read her well after these many years. After all, she was much like Melisande. “I need to be sure of something.”

            “What?”

            Maysam set her cup aside as well and anxiously clasped her hands upon her knees. “You know how much I love Haris.”

            “Yes.”

            “It would pain me to see him hurt.”

            Understanding erased the questions from Talia’s large eyes, and she settled back in her chair. Coolly she said, “You think I am playing with him?”

            “I would never assume such a thing. It’s just that…well, we both know how much he loves you, but your path has taken you from him. You are his life, Talia. I see the happiness in him since returning; only you have that effect on him. And I’d like to believe I’ve seen some of that happiness on your face as well. I’m only asking if I’m mistaken or not. Is that truly why you’ve asked to share a room?”

            “ _Jiddah_ , I can’t give you a definitive answer. I’m trying not to think too hard on it. But I can promise you that I have no ulterior motives…and I admit I _am_ a bit hurt by your concerns.”

            “Forgive me, _hafida_.”

            “But I understand why you feel that way.” Talia frowned and lowered her eyes. “I’m not the woman you would have liked me to become. Believe me when I say I have my regrets, especially when it comes to you…and Bane.”

            “I’m not talking about this to hurt you or make you feel culpable, _hafida_. I want you to be happy; I want Haris to be happy. And I believe you two can find that happiness together. If only you will let down your guard and leave Miranda Tate behind. I know you realize all the things Haris has done for you and his reasons why, but I think you are afraid to love him back. You feel yourself unworthy because of all he has suffered for you and what you had to do as Miranda Tate. And you’re afraid you can’t love him the way he loves you. Perhaps you can’t, but that’s because everyone loves differently. No one understands you better than Haris. If anyone can help you find yourself, it’s him. And the same could be said for you with him. If I had my way neither of you would be involved with the League. I think it gets in the way of your happiness. You have been a part of it because of your father, and Haris is a part of it because of you. It’s time you both put yourselves first. It’s time you _live_.”

            “You make it sound so simple, _Jiddah_ ,” Talia said with a sigh. “But it isn’t.”

            “You start slowly. First you must heal, and you must forgive yourself. Haris and I both know you still feel guilt over things from years ago, from the pit, but he made his choices, and he regrets none of them—the pain, the scars, his decision to return to you and your mother in the pit…he would do it again for you and more.”

            Talia’s eyelashes fluttered in confusion. “His decision? What do you mean? He had no choice but to go back to the pit.”

            Maysam’s heart froze, her eyes widening in shock at her slip of the tongue. Color drained from her face.

            Talia moved to the edge of her chair. “ _Jiddah_ …tell me what you meant.” The near-panic on her grandmother’s face caused Talia’s thoughts to race and her pulse to quicken. There was something her grandmother was hiding…and had been hiding for some time. Talia knew the only time Bane had left the pit prison prior to his rescue was when he had broken his back during his second escape attempt. Her mother had used her family’s wealth to bribe their jailers into contacting Maysam and arranging to have Bane treated at a medical clinic for surgery. It was there Maysam had first met Bane.

            Talia leaned toward her grandmother who still could not speak and now avoided her gaze. “ _Jiddah_ , tell me. Or should I ask Bane?”

            “No! You mustn’t. I promised him I would never tell you.” She pressed her lips together in shame, tears threatening. “Oh, I’m such an old fool!”

            “Tell me what?”

            “Please, _hafida_ …”

            Desperation rose in Talia, though she did not understand the urgency she felt. Seeing her grandmother so quickly distraught told her that the secret was a significant one. Except for his alleged part in Dominic LePage’s death, Bane had never kept secrets from her. She needed to know what this was all about.

            Talia knelt beside her grandmother’s chair and took her hand in hers. “I won’t tell him that you told me.”

            “If I tell you, he will know; he will see it in your eyes.”

            “ _Jiddah_ , please. You can’t say something like that then not tell me the whole story. Are you saying Bane had a _choice_ whether to return to the pit after his back surgery?”

            Maysam squeezed her eyes shut, her hand cold.

            “ _Jiddah_ ,” Talia whispered.

            At last Maysam offered a shallow nod. She exhaled strongly through her mouth, having unwittingly held her breath.

            “Yes, Haris had a choice whether to return to the pit or be free.”

            “But how? There’s no way our jailers would have allowed him to go free.”

            “It was my doing…as a reward for his care of your mother.” She spoke quietly, as if to conceal her admission from the world. “Remember, I knew nothing about you when I met Haris. Neither he nor Melisande told me because they were afraid of what Siddig would do if he found out. In Melisande’s letter to me, she begged me to help Haris escape. I tried. I told him I could arrange it. I could bribe his guards. I told him I would find him a place to live and work.”

            “But he refused.”

            Maysam nodded again, squeezed Talia’s hands. “He couldn’t leave your mother; he couldn’t leave you. He said he was all Melisande had and that she was all he had. He told me later that he made her promise never to tell you because he feared it would make you feel culpable. Remember, you were only about three years old when he had his surgery, so you never would have questioned why he returned to the pit; you would have only understood later, if your mother or Haris told you. When he wrote to me for the first time after your father rescued him, he asked me to never tell you about his refusal of my offer.”

            Talia sank back on the rug, her hands slipping from Maysam’s. She felt gutted, imagining the enormity of the decision Bane had faced. Freedom. He had given it up and willingly returned to hell for her. How had he endured such a thing? Who else would have the strength of character to subject himself to such torture? And Talia knew, just as her grandmother had said, Bane had never regretted that terrifying decision. In Talia’s eyes he had always been an extraordinary man; but now, hearing this, he was something even more, something unique in this world of darkness, greed, and hate. And she could never, ever repay him, no matter what she did.

            She did indeed feel more guilt, that crushing, suffocating force she experienced whenever she reflected upon all he had done for her over the years. But she also felt a surge of overpowering love. No other man, not even Dominic LePage, would have sacrificed a fraction of what Bane had sacrificed. Indeed, Bane’s whole life had been little but misery. Her grandmother was right—if anyone deserved happiness in this world, it was Bane. But would he know what to do with it? Would she? Perhaps, together, they could find out.

            “I’m so sorry, _hafida_ ,” Maysam said tremulously.

            “Don’t be. I’m glad you told me. There should be no secrets between Bane and I. I’ve told him that many times.”

            “Don’t be angry with him for concealing this. He was only protecting you.”

            “I’m not angry; I’m humbled. If he hadn’t decided to go back to the prison, I would have died with Mama. He loved her so much, _Jiddah_.” A slight scowl clouded her eyes. “Papa may have called her his great love, but I think his love for her paled in comparison to Bane’s.”

            “And that’s how he loves you as well, _hafida_.”

            “I’m as undeserving of his love as Papa was of Mama’s.”

            “Nonsense.” Maysam reached for her hand, kissed it. “You must stop despising yourself. You are as worthy of love as anyone. And no one will ever love you more than Haris does.”

            Talia’s lips twisted in a small, wry smile. “He says he’s too old for me.”

            “That is his defense against claiming you as his own. He, too, feels he is unworthy of another’s love. He’s never felt it, not _that_ type of love, I mean. A woman’s love. And no one is more suited than you to understand him and appreciate him.” She sighed and patted Talia’s hand before releasing it. “But I will not pressure you into this. It must be what you want.”

            Too drained to reclaim her seat, Talia leaned back against the chair instead. In an attempt to deflect the moment’s serious tone, she said, “I don’t think either Bane or I are the marrying type, _Jiddah_.”

            “No one is speaking of marriage. I’m merely encouraging you to search your feelings for him, and if you do indeed love him as he loves you, then you should have an understanding. He needs to know in no uncertain terms how you feel. Without that, his honor will keep him at arm’s length. If there is one thing Haris fears, it is your outright rejection of him.”

            “But I don’t know how I feel about him…in that way.”

            Maysam regained her usual composure, banishing her anxiety over having revealed Bane’s secret. She would not fret over it anymore in Talia’s presence. “You say you don’t know, but tell me then why you slept with him while you were away.”

            “How do you know I slept with him?” Talia stalled.

            “Dear child, I’ve seen you many times after you’ve slept with him when the two of you would visit me over the years. You have a certain look about you afterwards. A peace, a youthfulness from your years before the League fully claimed you.”

            When Talia considered this, she realized her grandmother was right—she had indeed felt those things. The only time she had not was the night she had spent with Bane before she had told him about her feelings for Dominic LePage.

            “It wasn’t something planned,” Talia slowly admitted. “It happened after one of my nightmares, a nightmare about that day he saved me and I climbed out of the pit. In the nightmare, I went back for him, to save him. He woke me from the nightmare, and we talked for a while. I didn’t want him to leave me. I knew if he stayed I wouldn’t have any more nightmares. He would protect me from them. Also, like you said, he would bring me peace. I never thought of it that way until you just said that.”

            “You initiated the physical contact?”

            “Of course. Bane would never have touched me otherwise. And I wanted him to. I realized how much I missed his touch, how much I missed him, just the two of us together, talking of things other than League business. I had forgotten what a good friend he is. Gotham made me forget that…and so many other things.”

            “And now you have asked to share a room in my house.”

            “Are you offended? You could have said no—”

            “I am not offended. I am pleased.” She retrieved her coffee cup. “However, you could have simply said nothing, had separate rooms but still slept together. Instead you made this effort in front of the two other people Haris cares about and respects. This means something to him. And I believe it means something to you as well, otherwise you would not have asked for this privilege.”

            Frowning, Talia also picked up her cup and sipped the cooling beverage. “I have treated him badly over the years. I want to make it up to him.”

            “If you wish to make it up to him merely with sex, _hafida_ , then I caution against it. Bane has always wanted more, and he deserves more.”

            “Has he said that to you?”

            “Does he need to? You and I both know it, don’t we? He is not a man to complain or beg, is he?”

            “Never.”

            “As I said, I am not trying to pressure you into anything. I merely want you to consider everything carefully.”

            Talia nodded thoughtfully. “I will, _Jiddah_. I promise.”


	6. Chapter 6

            Bane stepped out of the shower, feeling renewed. Last night’s sexual activity and the long journey had nearly caused him to fall asleep after his phone call with Finn Donnell. Afterward he had left Barsad’s room and shuffled down the hallway to his suite. There he had almost allowed himself to sprawl across the expansive four-poster bed and sleep, to regain his energy in anticipation of the upcoming night with Talia. But instead he had forced himself to shower away the journey’s fug and refresh himself while awaiting his lover.

            The bathroom was obscenely spacious, as was the whole suite. There was a large glass-encased shower with a head that could be adjusted to a multitude of pleasant settings, several of which he had tried, and a bathtub that could easily accommodate two people, complete with massaging jets. Bane had the room’s adjustable lighting set low, but even then the spotless marble floor gleamed. Thick white accent rugs cushioned and warmed his bare feet. The white marble vanity stretched nearly the width of the room, allowing plenty of space for the sundry beauty items all women seemed to have by the dozens. No doubt even Maysam indulged in such things, especially in her younger years here in this very room. Barsad had told him how Siddig had been very particular about his wife’s appearance, especially when they had guests. Bane’s items, however, took up no more space than needed for a razor and a toothbrush.

            Naked and unmasked, he stared at himself in the broad, spotless, guild mirrors. He thought of Maysam touching his face earlier and offering her soothing words. She was far too kind to him. Barsad often teased that Maysam would one day make him soft. The mirror reflected Bane’s ghastly, distorted smile over this. Perhaps there was some truth to what Barsad said, at least when they were at the palace. Whenever he was here, he felt like a different man…a normal man. He was neither a member of an elite organization of assassins nor a fearsome monster. He could just be.

            With a sigh, Bane donned his mask once more. There was something disturbing about looking at his naked body with only the mask on. Its singularity and distinctly inhuman design accented its foreignness. When he was fully clothed, especially in his combat fatigues, the mask fit the persona, the utilitarian, military look. Without those clothes, the mask and scars revealed him as flawed and damaged. Is that what Talia saw when he was naked? True, she had often encouraged him to remove the mask when they made love and had once succeeded, acting as if there was no difference in his appearance with or without it, but perhaps she was just being indulgent. He could read her so well in all things except her sexuality. An ambiguity she had honed as Miranda Tate to fool her many lovers, her unsuspecting pawns.

            After pulling a gray t-shirt over his head and putting on a fresh pair of black Under Armour boxers, he left the bathroom and passed through the adjacent spa. This room reminded him of a Roman bath, though the décor had as much Middle Eastern flavor as Roman. A rectangular space with a low ceiling and ivory pillars framing archways of muted golden brown. A white-tiled floor surrounded the space’s central feature—the in-ground spa, also rectangular. Its inviting blue water was placid, the jets turned off. The pool was large enough for six adults, surrounded by a raised dark brown marble edging that was broad enough to be used as a place to sit. Pillar candles of various sizes had been placed around the pool on this edge, their flames flickering against the reflective surfaces of both water and marble. Neatly rolled, plush white towels waited, stacked in pyramids near the gleaming handrails that led into the pool. The same ivory columns that surrounded the room also supported a separate, lower ceiling over the pool where recessed lighting through decorative lattice covers offered muted illumination. When Hisham had familiarized him with the suite, he had shown Bane where the sound system was located. Speakers skillfully masked by the décor could fill the bath with music to suit his taste.

            Luxury and opulence normally disgusted him, but because this was Maysam’s home and Talia’s sanctuary those feelings were held in check here. While this environment’s excess did not befit him, he felt it appropriate for two such extraordinary women, both who had endured enough emotional trial in their lives to deserve pampering.

            Moving down a connecting hallway, he passed a small dining room that looked out upon a veranda. A second table was on the veranda, should they wish to eat outside. Bane could see the furniture in the last vestiges of light from the leisurely sunset, and he could imagine himself sitting there with Talia as she enjoyed her morning coffee.

            On the opposite side of the hallway was what appeared to be an office, no doubt where Siddig had spent many hours in privacy. Under direction from Maysam, Hisham had told Bane that he was free to use the space as his own. If the office lacked anything required, all he had to do was tell the servant and he would procure what was needed.

            A few steps farther and Bane was in the suite’s bedroom, the alabaster marble cool upon his feet. This was the largest room, serving as both sleeping and leisure areas. On a dais, commanding the far end of the room, a king-size bed on a mahogany frame awaited him. The bed was the largest Bane had ever seen, its mattress made of memory foam instead of the traditional mattress with box springs. Maysam knew the memory foam was far more comfortable for Bane’s tortured back—his previous bedroom here had included a bed of that same material. The linens were pale gray and white, crisp and dazzling. Gauzy curtains of white could be released from their ties to shroud the four-poster bed. They moved slightly in the evening breeze through the open veranda doors, like a living, breathing thing, beckoning to him. Before his shower, he had turned off the air conditioning and opened the doors now that the sun was down.

            Wood and embroidered upholstery furniture with the appearance of expensive antiques populated one corner of the room where there was also a fireplace, while the opposite corner, closer to the hallway, boasted more traditional ways to relax—colorful cushions and pillows, along with low tables, all set upon a spacious, lush scarlet Persian rug. Bane thought less about the furnishings’ monetary value and style and more about how he would make love to Talia on any or all of them.

            In the corner farthest from him, the door to a half bath stood ajar, light from inside slicing pencil-thin across the floor. Talia must have arrived while he was in the shower. Bane smiled and his fingers twitched in anticipation, a tic that he had had since his mother’s death. In silence, he padded across the room and sidled up to the door, a playfulness urging him to remain undetected. But his brow quickly furrowed at the unexpected sound of quiet, distressed sobs. Did his ears deceive him? He listened closer. No, he was not mistaken; she was indeed crying.

            For a moment Bane could do nothing, shocked. Talia rarely wept. He searched his memory for the last time he had seen tears on her cheeks. It had been here at the palace, when they had all gathered following her father’s death. After that, she had changed. She had closed off her heart to so many things, even to him in some ways.

            In Gotham, at the end when he had fought the vigilante known as the Batman, Bane had been incapacitated when Batman damaged the mask and stopped the flow of vapor. Bane’s sacrifice and agony had been rewarded when Talia had crept up and buried her father’s knife deep in Batman’s side. As she revealed her true identity to the wounded vigilante—the same man who had killed her father—and told him about her background, and Bane’s, it had been Bane who shed tears over the terrible memories, not Talia. She had been calm and focused, even in the presence of their enemy. The iciness she had learned from her father had served her well.

            Now, listening to her behind the bathroom door, Bane raised a hand to knock but stopped himself. No, if he knocked, she might refuse him admittance and then hide her tears and deny anything was wrong once she emerged, composed. So he opened the door, spilling forth light like a sunburst.

            Talia gasped and turned from where she sat on the closed lid of the toilet. Her face, devoid of make-up, was damp, streaked and blotched, eyes brimming. Instantly she reached for a hand towel and wiped her face, as if she had merely just washed it.

            “ _Habibati_ ,” Bane breathed. “What’s wrong?”

            Talia stared at him, indecisiveness. She almost allowed herself to speak hollow words to deceive him, but she knew such tactics would be fruitless against her protector. It was too late. She could not deny what he saw with his own eyes. Foolishly she had thought she had closed the door tightly.

            Bane edged his large body into the limited space between Talia and a vanity closet, then crouched before her, taking her hands, brow furrowed.

            “What’s the matter?”

            She struggled for words as she imagined all over again the scene at the medical clinic when her grandmother had offered him freedom. How had he found the strength to refuse? And how could she, after learning all this, keep her knowledge from him? She had resolved to do just that for her grandmother’s sake, but now that he had found her like this, now that she looked into his loving eyes, her own willpower failed.

            “You shouldn’t have done it,” she whispered at last.

            “Done what, _habibati_?”

            “ _Jiddah_ told me. She didn’t mean to. Please don’t be angry with her.”

            “Told you what?”

            Talia struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. “About the day she met you…in the clinic.”

            Bane’s hands went cold, and his blue gaze darkened to black.

            “It was an accident,” Talia hastened to assure. “Believe me it was. She feels terrible and wanted to apologize to you before I said anything, but I just…I just…” Talia held his hands tightly, to keep him here in case he had a thought to seek out Maysam. “I didn’t mean for you to see me like this.”

            Agitated, Bane got to his feet, drawing Talia with him since she refused to let go of him.

            “What did she tell you?”

            “That she offered you freedom, but you went back to the pit because of Mama and me. Bane, please don’t be angry with her.”

            The room was too small for Bane. He could no longer breathe there.

            “I am not angry with her, but I do regret her lapse. Nothing good will come from this. There was no need for you to ever know. It serves no purpose. It deserves none of your tears.”

            He managed to pull free and step out of the bathroom, but she was right behind him.

            “How can I not weep? It’s overwhelming to think what might have been if you had listened to _Jiddah_. You _should_ have listened to her.”

            Bane wheeled upon her, causing her to almost bump into him, surprised. “No, Talia. I should have done exactly what I did. I don’t regret it, and neither should you. Now that is the end of this discussion. It is in the past. Let it stay there.”

            Her grabbed a clean pair of dark blue linen pants that had been laid out upon the bed for him and pulled them on.

            “Bane.”

            The room was suddenly too stifling. He should have left the air conditioning on. With quick strides, he headed for the veranda. To his surprise, Talia did not pursue him.

            As he settled into a cushioned wicker chair, he wished he had brought his crochet out with him; it would calm him and give his restless hands something to do. He closed his eyes for a long moment, breathed deeply through the mask, centered himself, slowed his heart rate.

_Maysam, Maysam_ , he lamented. _Why did you allow this pain to come to your granddaughter? To me?_

            His thoughts returned to that musty medical clinic a long day’s journey from the pit prison, a rough, torturous, terrifying ride for someone with multiple injuries who had never before been beyond the darkness of the pit and its inmates. He knew not how long he had been at the clinic. After the surgery to repair his spine, he had been allowed little recovery time before he was sent back to the prison. Maysam had arrived just before that departure. He would never forget her face that day. When Siddig had banished Melisande to the pit prison, he had told Maysam only lies about her fate. Not until she received Melisande’s letter about his desperate plight after his fall in the prison shaft did she even know for sure that her daughter lived. So when she saw Bane, Maysam saw a portal that connected her to Melisande and restored her hope.

            Much younger then, Maysam looked even more like Melisande than she did now, so the moment she had entered his room, Bane knew who she was. They spoke only for a moment before the soldiers came to remove him. She had thanked him and offered him freedom. She had called him Haris, a name with positive connotations, not the negative, foreboding meaning behind his prison name. She had made him feel valued, just as Melisande and Talia did.

            “May I sit with you?”

            Talia’s soft question pulled him from his memories. She stood in the veranda doorway, wearing a belted, pale pink silk robe that came to mid-thigh. The streaks from her tears had been washed from her cheeks, and her eyes were clear once more, her expression composed. The metamorphosis made him wonder how long he had been sitting out here, lost in reverie.

            “Of course,” he rumbled, turning to stare out over the courtyards and gardens of the palace compound. Solar-powered lights, having soaked up a day’s worth of energy, glowed along the pathways like stationary fireflies. The patter of water in a fountain barely reached his ears, making him think of the spa in the suite. From the forecourt below, the eerie cry of a peacock echoed through the early night, causing the hair on his arms to prickle.

            Talia sat into a matching chair next to his, crossing her long legs, the shine from the bedroom lights bronzing her feet and ankles, the only parts of her it could expose. The veranda lights were left off, the way Bane preferred it and the way Barsad demanded it, considering his security.

            “You’re angry,” she said.

            “You are mistaken.”

            “I don’t believe I am.”

            “I am referring to your delusion about the reason for my return to the pit after my surgery.”

            “Delusion?”

            “Yes, you think me heroic.”

            “You were.”

            “As I said, you are mistaken.”

            “Bane,” she said in frustration. “I’m too tired for riddles.”

            He hesitated, unsure if he should even continue discussing the situation. But he decided to move forward because he needed to assure her that she had little need for blaming herself for his long-ago choices.

            “Do you remember the day you met your father?” he asked.

            “Of course. I’ll never forget it.”

            “You had dreamed of that day for years, ever since your mother decided to tell you about him. It was your greatest wish, to finally meet him, to be free to do so.” A faint smile reached Bane’s lips. “I remember how you relentlessly badgered Temujin to tell you all about your father after we learned that he had known him.”

            Though the mask hid Bane’s mouth, Talia heard his smile in his words, and it relaxed her a bit. Reminiscing about Temujin, his deceased friend and League mentor, always brought him some sliver of happiness mixed with the sadness Temujin’s tragic death still inflicted upon him.

            “Yes,” she said with a smile of her own. “I’m lucky he didn’t throw me from the top of the stepwell.”

            “Indeed. Your appetite for knowledge of your father was voracious. But when you met him at last, you didn’t immediately run into his arms.”

            “No. I thought I would. That’s how I had pictured it when I would think and dream about him when I was in the pit.”

            “Of course. But you found that instead of immediate love and trust you felt something altogether different and unexpected: Fear.”

            “Yes.”

            “So when I just now told you that you are mistaken about my motives for returning to the pit, you will understand my true reason, a reason even more powerful than my love for you and your mother.”

            Talia wondered if she detected shame in his words. What could possibly be more powerful than his love for them? She studied the harsh profile that the mask gave him, a darker shadow against the deepening blackness of night beyond the veranda. His eyes had reclaimed an even more intense darkness than the world around him.

            “I don’t understand, Bane.”

            “Ah, but you do. You just don’t want to admit it.”

            “If you’re trying to convince me that fear is what caused you to return to us, I don’t believe you.”

            “That is why I said your belief in my heroism is misplaced. You don’t want to believe me. You don’t want me to take the blame for my actions. Instead, you prefer to blame yourself, as you have about many other things in our past life. It is easier that way. But the truth is I _was_ afraid, as afraid as you were when faced with the reality of meeting your father at last, the man who provided true freedom for you. A part of you wanted to reject that freedom and return to what you knew, no matter how terrible that life was. That is one of the reasons why you came back for me; I was a part of that life.”

            “No,” she said strongly. “I came back for you because I loved you.”

            “And to reward me for all that I had done.”

            “Of course. No one deserved to be free of the pit more than you.”

            “Why? I killed men in prison, committing the same crimes for which others had been condemned to the pit.”

            “You did that to survive and to ensure my mother and I survived. You were born there, an innocent. You had no choice in the matter.” She turned sideways in the chair to face him, drawing a leg up for comfort. “And you aren’t telling me anything I didn’t know about your reasons for returning to the pit. Of course at the time I was too young to realize it, but later I did because I could imagine how frightened I would have been in the same situation.”

            “When your grandmother offered freedom to me, it filled me with panic. I knew nothing about the world of light. What little I had seen of it during my clinic ordeal showed a life little better than what the pit offered. In the pit, I was a man of strength, a man with a family, a purpose. What would I have had outside of there? And though your grandmother vowed to see me well and gainfully employed, I had no idea if she could truly deliver upon such promises. I did not know her.”

            “It was a split second decision,” Talia said. “That alone would have caused anxiety in your situation. You were injured and in pain, medicated. Of course you couldn’t think altogether clearly.”

            “Do not make excuses for me, Talia. You think courage impelled my decision, but it was in truth cowardice. So you must stop blaming yourself for my decision, right now, from the very beginning. This is the end of ever discussing this again.”

            She bristled. “I will discuss whatever subject I want, Bane. As always, you’re protecting me. I will never believe cowardice in you. It’s not even possible for it to exist in you.”

            “I am a man, Talia, not a god.”

            “You are more than a man to me. I have known many, many men. Indeed, I have lived among men all my life, far more so than women. You know this. So no one is a better judge than I. If I choose to weep for you, I will. I know what you’ve sacrificed and what you continue to sacrifice.”

            “I sacrifice nothing. My life is as I choose it.”

            Talia sighed in frustration. “Besides being the bravest man I know, you’re also the most stubborn.”

            “And you are the most stubborn of women.” He finally looked at her, and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “But I find your spirit intoxicating, as always.”

            His compliment made her blush as no other man could. With Bane it was always genuine and heartfelt, not mere flattery like so many in Gotham or at Le Rosey or Oxford. If only the world knew him as she did.

            “Did your grandmother retire?”

            “No, she and Barsad were going to sit for a while on the veranda outside the dining room.”

            “I hope our brother does not subject her to his vile tobacco habit. I should have reminded him.”

            “I’m sure he remembers your fifty other reminders, Bane.” She chuckled.

            “You underestimate our brother’s thickheadedness.”

            “I’m sure he’ll behave in _Jiddah’s_ presence. She’s the only one he _does_ behave for.”

            Bane grunted in agreement then fell into silence, a silence that encompassed them both for a long moment, washing away any tension left over from Maysam’s revelation about Bane’s past. Talia was the first to speak again.

            “It was very kind of _Jiddah_ to let us use this suite. It’s magnificent.”

            “Magnificent, yes, but obscenely excessive.”

            “Oh, _habibi_ , allow yourself to indulge for a change. _Jiddah_ would be disappointed to hear you disapprove.”

            “I don’t disapprove. It was indeed kind of her to offer these quarters to us. But you know I’m not accustomed to such opulence. It makes me uncomfortable. I prefer things simple, as they were in our mountain home. However, it does please me to think of the irony of you sleeping in your grandfather’s bed after that black villain banished your mother to the pit. I believe she would appreciate the justice of you being here, enjoying the spoils of his greed, while he molders in the grave.”

            Talia considered this with a melancholy smile. “You’re probably right. I would like to believe she sees us here, safe and happy.”

            “ _Are_ you happy, _habibati_? You have not been in a long time.”

            “Yes, I’m happy…right now. I’m glad we came back. Thank you for suggesting it.”

            “I should have known a subterranean base is no place for you. Perhaps the League can establish a secondary base, one in Bhutan again, in the mountains. No outsider ever knew of it except Bruce Wayne.” The name made Bane clench his teeth. “And he is dead.”

            “Or so we hope,” Talia muttered.

            “Do you doubt it?”

            “I would feel better about it if a body had been found.”

            “The same thing our enemies are saying about us. More irony, my dear.”

            Talia swallowed the bad taste of Bruce Wayne in her mouth, then thoughtfully said, “Are you serious about a mountain base?”

            “If it’s something you would like. We both have such fond memories of our first home beyond the pit.” _Except for my excommunication by R_ _ā’s al Gh_ _ūl, of course_ , Bane thought.

            Talia nodded. “I will think about it. Considering our heightened notoriety, it might be wise to have a secondary training facility in case _’Eth Alth’eban_ is ever compromised.”

            “Indeed.”

            “Speaking of the League, what did Finn have to say about the stadium attacks today?”

            “Just last week he received intel from our embedded agent with _Al Thi’b_ about an eminent attack. There was chatter about soft targets such as sporting venues. There is also a plan to take down multiple airliners.”

            “Did our brother have any ideas how this would be done?”

            “They have two methods in the works. One has to do with operatives who work for the catering companies that supply airlines. Those shipments aren’t screened, so it will be relatively easy for a bomb to be placed aboard flights. The other method is a bit riskier. _Al Thi’b_ and his organization have at least two pilots under their control. They have kidnapped the pilots’ families and will torture and kill them unless the pilots follow their orders.”

            “That is indeed risky. The pilots might break under the pressure and talk to the authorities.”

            “That is why I believe they will use them fairly soon. The longer they wait to activate that particular plan, the greater the risk.”

            “Should we intervene?”

            “No. We will continue to observe and leave our agent in play.”

            “Very well.” Talia sighed and stood, moving with the fluid grace of a panther. “I’m going to the spa. Will you be joining me?” She paused in the doorway, turning back to him, the light from inside catching one side of her face.

            Bane allowed himself only a glance at her before he replied, “Shortly.”

            When she lingered but did not respond, he turned to her. She gave him a seductive smile and freed the loose tie around her waist. The robe languidly opened just enough to show that she wore nothing underneath and hinting at what awaited him. Somehow he kept his unreadable composure, though his body’s immediate response urged him to leave his chair and sweep her into his arms. His pride, however, kept him impassive.

            “Don’t be long, _habibi_ ,” she murmured, then slipped away.


	7. Chapter 7

            Bane remained on the veranda for several minutes after Talia had left for the spa. His fingers twitched as he stared into the night, and his body demanded that he follow her with all haste. Yet he denied himself, forcing restraint to test his will. His League training had taught him this. Temptation sought out in order to deny oneself and grow stronger through enduring the pain. Nor did he want Talia to view him as a panting lapdog, bounding after her with dripping tongue.

            After a sufficient, torturous amount of time, he lumbered back inside. Indecisive, he paused near the bed, fingers poised to remove his clothes. Would it be presumptuous of him to enter the spa with nothing but a robe? True, Talia’s own action of opening her robe had been provocative, but…

            Bane growled and shook his head at his own inexperience in such matters. If this was before Dominic LePage, he would have no hesitation about this scenario, but so much had changed since he had ordered LePage’s death. Bane reminded himself that Talia had been the one to suggest sharing this room together, right after their first union in so very long. Such a gesture meant she wanted to be with him, of course. Or did it? Was this need for togetherness on her part simply because of her nightmares and insecurities since her injury? He would certainly feel a fool if he showed up naked in the spa only to see surprise and hesitation in her eyes.

            At last he berated his shameful vacillation, and removed his clothing. In an adjacent walk-in closet, he found a plush white robe and donned that before heading to the spa.

            He heard the bubbling of the spa jets and smelled the chlorine before he stepped into the room. The lights had been turned off except for those which glowed a soft blue above the pool. The flames of the surrounding candles danced, inviting him closer. Talia was already in the water, only her head visible as she swam from one end of the pool to the other, a journey that took only a few strokes. Silently he approached. Still in his robe, he sat sideways on the raised edge of the pool and watched her small shape—distorted by the water—glide away from him, swirls of disturbed water lapping at her neck and the base of her short hair. When Talia reached the opposite end, she turned. Seeing him, she smiled and swam back.

            “You are as graceful as a dolphin, my dear.”

            Talia sat sideways upon the spa’s submerged ledge and crossed her arms on the edge, careful to shift a couple of candles away from Bane’s robe.

            “The water feels wonderful,” she said. Her fingers toyed with the edge of his robe. “Aren’t you coming in?”

            “Is that an invitation?”

            “Do you need one?”

            “A gentleman does.”

            “You _are_ a gentleman, Bane. It’s something that’s always amazed me—how gentle such a powerful man can be.” She touched his hand, her finger softly trailing upward, his arm devoid of the brace he usually wore for his damaged wrist. “I remember sitting on our charpoy in prison and being mesmerized by your big hands crocheting delicate things. Or that time at our mountain home when my falcon had been injured and you tended to him. He should have been afraid of you but because you were so gentle with him, he would just watch you. Afterwards when he was better, remember how he would sometimes fly to you instead of to me?”

            “Yes, he was a foolish bird.”

            His jest made her smile for a moment before her sobriety returned. “Won’t you remove your mask so it doesn’t get wet?”

            “I will not be swimming, little mouse. I would sink like a rock.”

            “I’m not talking about swimming, _habibi_.” Her adventurous hand languidly untied his robe.

            Talia was always amused by these occasions when Bane seemed almost shy, his banter a stalling tactic, though he would never admit it. Like the incongruous gentleness she had just referred to, self-consciousness in such a formidable man was endearing to her. She wondered if he would be like this with other women or if this was something only she would manifest in him.

            “Remember the pool in prison?” she said. “Remember how I wanted to swim in it, but you wouldn’t let me because the prisoners might have discovered I was a girl?”

            “Yes, you drove me mad for some time about it. You were a handful, _habibati_ , especially once your dear mother was gone. I’m surprised I kept up with you.” His gaze drifted to her breasts just below the water’s surface. “You still are a challenge for me. One of the few.”

            “So that’s why you make love to only me?” she teased. “Others aren’t challenging?”

            “I wouldn’t know, nor do I want to. I want only you.”

            Talia withdrew her hand, trailing down the hard muscles of his exposed thigh. She grew serious again and studied the flame of the nearest candle. “There once was someone else you wanted.”

            He frowned in confusion. “No, _habibati_.”

            “Yes, there was: Mama.” She glanced up in time to see the embarrassment in his eyes before he turned away.

            “Talia, this isn’t the time to be speaking of such things.”

            Undaunted, Talia continued. “Sometimes I’ve wondered if you’ve only been with me because you couldn’t have my mother.”

            Appalled, he turned back to her. “Of course not. How could you think such a baseless thing?”

            “Well, I do look much like her, and your love for her was unrequited. There’s nothing more emotionally painful than that. Perhaps being with me helped ease that pain.”

            “Being with you does indeed ease my pain, all of it, but it has nothing to do with your mother. I’m shocked you would ever think such a thing, that I would use you in any way.”

            “I’ve never felt used by you, Bane. But…it’s just that you’ve been alone your whole life. If you had been with another woman, it wouldn’t have been a betrayal to me. I would have understood your needs.”

            “I am no slave to my body’s desires, Talia. My training has sustained me. Discipline keeps a man in check and helps him focus on his mission.”

            “You know, sometimes I’ve wondered if Mama was secretly in love with you. How could she not be? A kind, loving, handsome protector.”

            “She loved your father.”

            “My father,” her voice hardened, “wasn’t there. You were.”

            The thought of Melisande feeling the same way for him as he had for her was too much for Bane to bear. Such speculation only made her murder even harder to endure.

            “Did you ever tell her that you loved her?”

            “Of course not. She was a married woman. And what purpose would it have served but to alienate her from me or make myself look foolish? Now enough of this talk, Talia, or I will leave.”

            Her lips formed a small pout. “Very well then.” She touched his hand again. “I will let it be if you join me.”

            More than happy to accept this alternative, Bane stood to remove his robe. Talia watched with sultry eyes, the corners of her mouth curling upward as he tossed aside the garment. Instead of slipping into the pool beside her, he strode around to the steps, allowing her time to observe the animal power displayed by his short trek, as well as his growing erection. She waited for him to come to her.

            Soon Bane sat beside her, enjoying the pulsating jets thrumming against his tired muscles, the pool’s warmth magical. Talia smiled, and he slipped his arm around her, drew her close. She leaned her damp head against his shoulder, her hand resting on his thigh.

            “There are upsides to being rich,” she murmured then grinned at him.

            “It is easy—and dangerous—to believe so.”

            “Bane,” she chided. “Just for tonight, let yourself enjoy this. You’ve earned it. It’s a gift from _Jiddah_.”

            “For your sake and hers, my dear, I will acquiesce.”

            “Thank you.”

            He closed his eyes. “I will admit this is very relaxing, and the jets feel good against my back.”

            “I knew they would. You should use this every day.”

            “I am not fond of the chlorine smell, however.” He stroked her hair. “I prefer to smell you.”

            Talia’s fingers swam over his body, moving upward to his chest, massaging his bulging pectoral muscles, swirling around his nipples before sliding downward again. His pubic hair moved like seaweed between her fingers as she fondled his ample testicles. When she took hold of his rigid member, he growled with pleasure, kept his eyes shut and allowed himself to feel everything. Talia’s touch was light and tantalizing at first, making him even harder. She began to kiss his neck with feather-light caresses, her lips like velvet.

            Bane’s hand dipped beneath the surface, gliding between her thighs. She moaned and opened herself to him as her own touch grew stronger. Surprisingly the water aroused him, the new experience adding to the thrill, the pulse of the jets like the throb of his own pulse against his skin. Talia quivered under his skilled ministrations, her hips moving, her womanhood swelling, her grip on his shaft tightening, sliding so easily in the water. Her kisses on his neck and shoulder turned to delicious nips.

            When his finger began to enter her, she moaned, “No…not that. This,” stroking him hard once before starting to straddle him.

            But Bane stopped her before she could guide him inside her. He had a driving need to take her in a manner of his choosing, to show dominance and drive out her doubts about who he truly desired. She gasped in surprise when he abruptly took her by the hips and pushed her back just enough for him to stand. Before the question in her eyes could reach her lips, he swiftly turned her to face the pool’s edge. Immediately understanding, she braced her hands against the brown marble, barely having time to do so before he plunged inside her.

            The water now frustrated him, for it tried to slow his rhythm. Talia’s panting moans, however, encouraged him. He wrapped one arm around her, held her fast as he pumped, faster and faster. Color drained from her fingers as she gripped the edge of the pool, struggling to keep her arms straight so he would not drive her against the side. Her muscles trembled with the effort. Bane’s finger traced the surgical scar along her neck, a scar so much smaller and neater than the one on his own neck. From there his hand moved upward to her hair, running through it, then clenching a fistful. Talia turned her head, mouth open and wet. Understanding her invitation, his hand glided along her chin, her cheek, before his finger slipped inside her mouth. Her tongue played with the digit as he moved it in and out, the same rhythm as his hips. Deep within her womanhood, he swelled and throbbed as he collided again and again with her buttocks, her erotic sounds half-muffled by his hand.

            He wanted to explode but knew she was not ready. He loosened his arm from around her waist and found her engorged clitoris. The second he touched her there her knees gave way. Only her hold on the edge of the pool and Bane’s crooked arm against her hip kept her from slipping below the surface. Her mouth was slack now, powerless to maintain her game with his finger, distracted instead with emitting increasingly loud exclamations of pleasure. Her noises drove his passion to new heights, and he moved with manic determination to bring her with him. Her cries rose in pitch, kept close to his ears by the low ceiling, joined now with his groans. She seemed to vibrate from within, making it impossible for him to restrain himself any longer, but he no longer needed to—she cried out and shuddered the same time as he, a long, joyous release.

            Spent, Talia could no longer brace herself. Her fingers slipped, and with a sigh she let go, knowing Bane would catch her.

#

            Having refreshed himself with a shower after dinner, Barsad moseyed back down the long, carpeted hallway to the dining room. The dimly lit room was empty, the table cleared of any trace of supper and left with a bouquet of white daffodils in the center. The doors to the veranda stood open, and the flicker of candles beckoned to Barsad. His Keen sandals made no sound as he headed for the veranda, knowing Maysam would be there.

            He found her sitting alone, her face in her hands, shoulders rounded. The flames of the candles on the small table beside her wavered in the tiny breeze.

            He frowned, instantly concerned. “Maysam?” he murmured, startling her.

            Embarrassment caused her to quickly look away from him and wipe her moist eyes. She was not easily moved to tears, so he knew something serious was to blame for her distress.

            “What’s the matter?”

            “I’m sorry, John. I didn’t mean for you to see me this way. Please sit. Would you like me to have Sanjana bring you something to drink?”

            “No, I’m fine.” He sank into the wicker chair across the table from her. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He scowled at the thought of Talia having said something that upset Maysam.

            She waved a dismissive hand, seemed to debate whether or not to respond. A tremulous smile fluttered across her lips. “Just like old times, yes?” Maysam gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “Me telling you my problems, my sorrows. And you listening so kindly and indulgently.”

            “Maysam,” he urged, almost reaching for her hand. “What’s wrong? Is it Amir?”

            “No. Heavens, no.”

            “Talia?”

            Maysam fought for strength, but all over again she saw her granddaughter’s face when she had told her about Bane’s return to the pit. Her heart crumbled. “I betrayed his trust, John.”

            “Whose?”

            “Haris’s.”

            “What do you mean?”

            She gathered herself, turned to him, swallowing the hard knot in her throat. “I accidentally mentioned to Talia how I had offered Haris freedom when I first met him and how he elected to return to the pit instead.”

            “Oh, fu—I mean no. How’d she react?”

            “As you would imagine—she was devastated. I must tell Haris. I have to beg his forgiveness.”

            “Tell him, sure, but you won’t have to beg for anything. He’ll understand. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

            “But I still did it. After keeping it a secret all these years, I slip up at the worst possible time. Talia is so fragile right now.”

            Barsad almost laughed at the idea of Talia ever being fragile. “It’ll be all right.”

            “I feel like such a fool.”

            “Don’t. Shi—I mean _stuff_ happens. It was a long time ago. She’ll feel bad for a bit, yeah, but it’s water under the bridge. She’ll realize that. And Bane won’t let her wallow.”

            “I hope she doesn’t tell him. I asked her not to. I want him to hear it from me first.”

            Barsad knew that if Talia was upset, Bane would see it and demand answers, but he said none of this to Maysam; she was distraught enough.

            “Like I said, Bane will take care of her. They’re together now, after all, thanks to you.” He gave her a sideways glance and a grin. As he had hoped, his sly expression took away some of Maysam’s sadness, enough to get another small smile from her. “I know you, Maysam. You’re hatching a plan for those two, aren’t you?”

            “The only plan I have is to see them happy.”

            “And you think that’ll be by sharing a fancy suite?”

            “It’s a start. I could see a change in Talia the moment I laid eyes on her today. All these months and I could not reach her, nor you. Only Bane has broken through finally. And I’m grateful to him. So why not make him enjoy a bit of luxury?”

            “He’s not used to such pampering, Maysam. You might spoil the notorious Masked Man. He may become mortal.” Barsad’s grin remained. “And soft.”

            “He is already soft when it comes to Talia. That’s how it should be. They both need some softness in their lives. We all do.” She briefly raised an eyebrow at him, but he ignored her innuendo about his lack of a mate. “Talia has enlisted my help to convince Haris to succeed her as Demon Head, and she’s going to ask for your assistance as well. Will you agree?”

            Barsad’s hand rasped across the stubble on his chin. “Not sure I wanna get in the middle of that fight. It’s a no-win situation for me.”

            “But Haris is the best man for the job.”

            “True, but he’ll see Talia stepping down as an admission of failure to our brothers. He has too much pride in her to allow that.”

            “But it’s not an admission of anything of the sort. You could make him understand that.”

            “There’s no ‘making’ Bane do anything. You know that. It’s like trying to move a mountain.”

            “Well, then, you could _help_ him see the logic behind it, the benefits to Talia. It’s too big of a burden for her. It always has been, but she did it for her father. Without his untimely death, she probably never would have accepted the mantle.”

            “I’m not too sure about that. She’s a born leader, that one, strong and stubborn like her grandmother. I think she enjoyed the responsibility.”

            “Perhaps she did. But since Gotham, I think the fire has gone out of her. And I’m glad. Though I hate seeing her struggle through this, you know I never wanted her to follow in her father’s footsteps. I was no fan of his, as you also know.”

            “So you think maybe if Talia and Bane become more involved romantically then she’ll be able to convince him to take her place?”

            “Yes, that may happen, but don’t think that’s the reason behind my…encouragement of their renewed relationship. I would be doing this even if Talia wasn’t considering stepping down. I’ve always wished my granddaughter would devote herself to Bane, once I knew they were sexually involved with one another. I see how much in love he is with her, how happy he is when she’s around. In a way, their injuries were a blessing. It forced them back together, and it made Talia realize she can’t live without him. Not that she’s verbalized that to me, but I know her. Surely you’ve noticed her new demeanor.”

            “Yeah, but will it last? Talia, like Bane, is a restless soul. Neither one of ’em is ready to settle down and play house.”

            “I don’t expect that, John. I just think they would be happy together. They are not happy separate.”

            “Well, that’s true enough.”

            From inside the dining room, heavy footsteps approached at a rapid pace, and the angry voice of Amir rang out, “Maysam!”

            Barsad sprang from his chair and faced the veranda doors, an instinct to physically protect Maysam as well as to put a bit of distance between them to appease Amir’s religious dictates.

            Amir halted on the threshold when he saw Barsad, and his expression grew even heavier with displeasure. The nostrils of his straight, thin nose flared, and his dark eyes sparked with his infamous temper. Amir was taller than Siddig had been but he lacked his older brother’s good looks.

            “Leave us, Barsad. I must speak to my sister-in-law in private.”

            Barsad glanced in question at Maysam, who remained seated and unperturbed, as if she had been expecting this confrontation.

            “Your behavior is rude, Amir,” she said. “As you can see, I am entertaining our guest. We can have this discussion later.”

            Black anger exploded across Amir’s face, clenching his fists. “We will have this discussion _now_.” His gaze raked Barsad up and down. “And as for _your_ guest, you have been entertaining him for months now. He is no longer a guest but a nuisance. A dangerous one for all who rightfully live here, he and that masked menace and my whore of a great-niece.”

            Now Maysam bolted upright from her chair and would have charged at her brother-in-law if not for Barsad blocking her way. “You will mind your tongue, Amir,” she snapped.

            “Leave us, Barsad,” Amir demanded.

            “I can’t do that,” Barsad said in a low, warning tone. He knew Amir had physically abused his own wife when Iba had been alive, and he suspected the man had occasionally done the same to Maysam, though he had no proof. In Amir’s current state, there was no way Barsad was going to abandon Maysam.

            “Then I will have you removed,” Amir growled.

            “Like hell you will. You can either talk to her with me here or you can leave.”

            Amir swelled with outrage and started to turn away, no doubt to summon one of his men.

            “Wait,” Maysam said, halting Amir. She had calmed herself, knowing the danger Barsad had put himself in for her sake. “It’s all right, John. Please give me a few minutes with my brother-in-law. I’m sure he won’t waste too much of my time. Give us ten minutes, then please come back.”

            Barsad knew she had set the time limit and made it clear that he would see her again so if Amir did dare touch her Barsad would know it straight away.

            “Are you sure?”

            “Yes.” She offered a tempered, brave smile.

            Reluctant, Barsad nodded. He stepped toward the door, pausing for an instant in front of Amir, close enough for their noses to almost touch and for his sharp glare of warning to pierce the Arab. Then he stalked through the dining room. But when he stepped into the hallway he did not return to his room. Instead he hurried to the next floor and silently made his way into the room directly above the dining room. There he cracked open the veranda door and listened.


	8. Chapter 8

            Amir watched Barsad leave the dining room, making sure the door had closed behind the American before he wheeled around and grabbed Maysam by the wrist. She clenched her fist and set her jaw as his face nearly touched hers, his breath hot against her and smelling of wine.

            “How dare you speak to me in such a manner in front of that man?” Amir demanded, now speaking in Arabic.

            Though her brother-in-law’s grip was painful, Maysam refused to let him see a reaction. “This is my house, and I will protect my guests from your insulting manner.”

            “ _Your_ house?” Amir barked a laugh. “This was my brother’s house; now it is mine. It was never yours. Only through my good graces are you even allowed to remain here.”

            “Don’t be so certain of that.”

            “Times have changed, Maysam. Your rabid dog, Bane, does not have the power over me that he once thought he had. Now it is I who hold his fate in my hands. One phone call is all it would take, one whisper.”

            Maysam bristled and jerked her wrist from his grip. “You do that and you will lose everything. I would tell your enemies everything. And if you killed me before I could, Barsad or Talia or Bane would see everything Siddig and you built destroyed, then they would kill you. You cannot silence us all. So think twice before threatening us.”

            Having his bluff called made Amir curse her. “It is you who will bring destruction down upon this family. Harboring these terrorists.”

            “Talia is your great-niece, your blood, and all we have left of Melisande. Your brother may have condemned her, but I will not allow you to do the same to her daughter. Talia still needs my support. And she will have it for as long as she needs me.”

            “We were rid of them finally; now you allow them back, without my permission. This is outrageous enough, but now I discover you have given my brother’s own suite to that masked barbarian. How dare you allow him to sleep in that bed, to defile it with Siddig’s own granddaughter?”

            “That was my suite as well, Amir, and Talia is no less deserving of it than her grandfather, more so even, considering what he did to her mother. Is that why you came storming in here, because of how I choose to indulge my granddaughter and the man who has devoted his life to her?”

            “He is no man; he is a monster.”

            Maysam slapped him across the face. Infuriated, Amir grabbed her by the shoulders, pushed her back toward the veranda railing, eyes ablaze.

            “Haris is more of a man than you or my husband,” she snarled. “He has never hurt me like you or broken my heart like my husband. He is the son I never had.”

            Amir spat on the floor’s sandstone tiles. “You may have had a son if you had seen to your wifely duties instead of punishing my brother.”

            Maysam knew Amir would have struck her in retaliation for her blow if not for Bane and Barsad being on the property. No matter how much Amir blustered, in truth he feared the two men more than anyone else. That knowledge gave Maysam power.

            “Siddig was lucky I did not slit his throat for what he did to Melisande. I am no longer the weak young woman I was then, Amir. Remember that. And if you try to disturb Haris and Talia, I won’t stop him from dismembering you. Now unhand me and leave.”

            With a small shove, Amir freed her, cursed her again, then wheeled and stormed through the dining room.

            Sighing with relief and rubbing her sore arms, Maysam returned to her chair, her legs suddenly weak. Within minutes Barsad arrived, his expression a mixture of worry and anger.

            “Are you all right, Maysam?”

            “You were nearby, weren’t you? Listening?”

            “Of course. I wasn’t about to let him hurt you.”

            “We should make sure Amir doesn’t go to Haris’s room.”

            “I already have one of my brothers headed there now. He’ll stand guard outside the suite.”

            “Thank you.”

            “If anyone disturbs Bane right now, they’ll get their neck snapped, believe me.”

            “Hopefully by morning Amir will have calmed down. Perhaps business will take him away soon.”

            “You slapped the bast—um, I mean, you slapped him, didn’t you?”

            “Yes.”

            Barsad shook his head and reclaimed his chair. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

            “Did you hear what he said about Haris?”

            “Yeah, but I still wish you hadn’t lost your temper with him. He’s already piss—I mean _riled_ up as it is.”

            “He deserved worse.”

            “Let him say whatever he wants about us, Maysam. Let him blow off steam, otherwise there might be an explosion we can’t contain.”

            “He knows better.”

            “Sure, he does, but that doesn’t mean his temper won’t get the better of him and make him do something stupid.”

            “Amir has a vicious temper, John, but he wouldn’t jeopardize his empire, or rather the empire my husband left him. And if he was foolish enough to do so, his lieutenants are intelligent men who would rein him in before he could expose you.”

            Barsad sighed and stared off into the night, wanting a cigarette worse than ever. “I hope you’re right, Maysam.”

#

            Barsad spent a couple of hours with Maysam. The tension left by Amir’s confrontation wore off quickly, and they fell back into their usual easy ways together. They reminisced, laughing over many shared memories. They also spoke of the present and the future, spending further time discussing Bane and Talia. Eventually the long day began to catch up with Barsad, and he said good night.

            “Will you join me for breakfast in the morning?” Maysam asked. “I have a feeling Haris and Talia will be sleeping in.”

            “Little doubt about that,” Barsad grinned. “Of course I’ll join you.”

            “We can eat out here, before it gets too hot.”

            “It’s a date.” He winked.

            Maysam enjoyed the rearview of Barsad as he left the veranda. Softly she sighed, her thoughts returning to their affair years ago. It was those days that had helped her become a stronger woman, one who would stand up to her intimidating husband.

            She remembered the first time she saw John Barsad. He had been one of many foreign mercenaries her husband regularly hired. Maysam had thought the American’s looks intriguing with his heavy-lidded eyes giving him almost a sad, forlorn little boy appearance. Even then he most often wore facial hair, adding a level of dangerous wildness to his persona, as well as a hint of slovenliness but one Maysam instinctively knew was a mere cover for a sharp mind and wit. In her husband’s line of business, Maysam had quickly learned how to read men with just a glance, especially the ones carrying guns. Yet Barsad’s mysterious pale blue eyes refused to yield as much information as others’ did. He was careful and skilled at concealing things, but Maysam had the ability to sense a deep, long-seated pain in him, pain from the loss of someone dear. She knew that look well from standing in front of her bathroom mirror every morning, thinking of her lost daughter.

            Her husband usually assigned many of his foreign fighters to the palace’s protection. Maysam guessed that Siddig’s reason for this was that an infidel would be less appealing to his wife, and thus she would remain faithful to him when he was gone for long stretches of time. Of course that way of thinking had proven faulty when it came to Melisande and Henri Ducard, but Siddig did not view his wife as someone as rebellious and liberal as their daughter.

            Barsad had not been assigned to her protection right away. First he had to prove himself in the field, which of course he promptly did. Within a year Siddig reassigned Barsad not only to the palace but to head of his security. Maysam knew Barsad chafed a bit at the somewhat mundane duties, and she found herself trying to make his time more pleasant by engaging him in conversation whenever she could.

            She quickly learned that she had been right about his wit and found herself laughing for the first time since losing Melisande. Soon their personal interactions became a daily ritual—breakfast together where they would mix business with pleasure, discussing her itinerary for the day and any tasks that he needed to see done for other family members at the palace, any visitors or excursions beyond the palace compound that required additional security. Then they would reunite later in the day for tea where conversation was purely casual. When Siddig was home, these meetings always included a family member like Maysam’s brother, Ayman, but when her husband was away, Maysam threw religious dictates aside and sat alone with Barsad. Their friendship allowed her spirit to blossom, and her new-found strength enabled her to bully her brother into begrudging submission and to threaten the servants should they breathe a word to Siddig about her improprieties.

            When Siddig had banished their daughter, Maysam had had to hide all pictures of Melisande, but when Siddig was away, she would display them, and as her friendship with Barsad emboldened her she eventually left them out, one by one, when her husband was home. As time passed and hope for her daughter’s return lessened, her hatred of her husband grew. When he dared threaten to dispose of the photographs, she intimated that she would retaliate in any way she could, including information to his enemies. Of course she never verbalized this directly, for Maysam knew if he was monster enough to condemn their daughter, he might even murder his own wife. He had acquiesced because she knew he still loved her and would not want to lose her. She was, perhaps, the only thing in life Siddig loved. Unfortunately, that love had not saved Melisande.

            Maysam had been holding a picture of Melisande one afternoon when Barsad arrived for tea. She had been so engrossed in memories and grief that she had not heard him enter the salon, did not have a chance to wipe away the tears before he was standing behind her and spoke her name.

            With a gasp she turned, hugging the framed photograph to her chest as if to protect it from Siddig.

            “Oh…John. I didn’t hear you come in.” Hastily she set the photo of herself and Melisande back on the end table and wiped the tears away. “Won’t you sit down? The tea is getting cold.”

            But he remained standing, and when she turned back around she nearly bumped into him. Face flushed, unable to meet his gaze, she found herself instead staring at his thin, bow-shaped lips. Flustered, she slipped away from him and poured their tea.

            As Barsad finally moved to sit across the tea table from her, he softly said, “You never talk about her.”

            Maysam hesitated, fought away the pain. “I can’t.”

            “Can’t or won’t?”

            “It doesn’t matter.”

            “Obviously it does…very much, even now.”

            “Please, John…”

            “I think you _need_ to talk about her. I think you _want_ to talk about her, but you don’t have anyone to do that with.” He certainly could see the trembling of her hands. His voice grew even softer, “I know what happened to your daughter, Maysam.”

            “No, you don’t.”

            “I do. Ayman told me. Ayman likes to drink. You didn’t know that, did you?” His tiny grin was meant to ease her. “He’s no fan of your husband, you know.”

            “Ayman wouldn’t tell you.”

            “He did. A while ago.”

            “Why would he do such a thing? I don’t believe you.”

            “I told you, he was drinking. And alcohol lowers a man’s guard. He told me because he feels guilty about it, about letting his sister and his niece down, about doing nothing to stop it. That’s why he drinks, alone usually, but once with me.”

            “There’s nothing he could have done.”

            “Maybe so, but that doesn’t make him feel any better.”

            “He shouldn’t have spoken of it.”

            “Obviously he needed to…like you.”

            She shook her head, afraid to look at him, afraid to show him the devastation. “I can’t.”

            “You should.”

            Like a cornered animal, she used anger as a defense, “What do you know of what I _should_ do?”

            “Because I understand your pain.”

            “How could you? You have no children, so you’ve never lost one as I have.”

            “No. But I had a brother. I lost him when we were just boys.”

            Now Maysam brought her eyes up, recognized that pain on his face, the shadow she had seen the day she had met him, that tragic connection. She had never had the courage to ask him about it, for she feared what it would conjure in herself.

            “What happened?” she asked near a whisper.

            Barsad hesitated, studied his tea before returning the cup to its saucer and leaning back in his chair with a labored sigh. “I killed him. It was an accident. I was trying to protect my mother and him from my father, but the bullet hit my brother instead.”

            Maysam’s heart broke for him. “Oh, John…I’m so sorry.”

            “So, you see, I do understand your pain, Maysam.”

            They talked more of that terrible day in his West Virginia youth, and after he had bared his soul to her, she did the same. Though reluctant at first, she soon found everything pouring out of her: the anger, the guilt, the grief, the hatred. Fighting back tears, she relived the day when Siddig had discovered Melisande’s secret marriage to Henri Ducard, how enraged Siddig had been. He had Ducard seized and condemned to the pit prison. That was when Melisande had thrown herself at her father’s feet in front of several of his business associates and begged for her husband’s freedom. To taunt and test Melisande, he said that the only way he would let Ducard go was if she took his place in the pit. Having misjudged her love for her husband, Siddig was shocked when Melisande agreed. Partly to impress his associates with his ruthlessness, Siddig had carried out the sentence. His pride and selfishness would not allow him to nullify his ultimatum, not after so many had witnessed it.

            Maysam’s story had moved Barsad so deeply that he had taken hold of her hands, a bold, forbidden move that startled yet pleased her. She allowed their union for only a moment, though.

            They talked for so long that Ayman finally came to the salon, displeased as usual over the inordinately lengthy time spent together, knowing no amount of palace business could merit it. Maysam had nearly chastised him and sent him away, but in truth she found relief in being forced to end their dialogue for the time being, for it had exhausted her. Yet, she realized later that day, it had also liberated her…and made her fall a bit in love with John Barsad.

            She had always been drawn to dangerous men. That was why her arranged marriage to Siddig had appealed to her, that as well as his good looks and lavish lifestyle. Of course she had been much younger than Siddig and naïve about the truth behind the origin of his wealth. She had learned quickly and had matured quickly because of it. After opening up to Barsad, she recognized the same attraction to danger. She was drawn to him the way her daughter had been drawn to Henri Ducard. The forbidden fruit; secret defiance against Siddig; private revenge for what he had done to their daughter.

            But getting back at her husband was not the driving force behind her relationship with Barsad. Her affection for him was genuine, and as that friendship and affection grew even deeper after their shared stories, her physical attraction grew as well. She would not, however, allow herself to believe he felt the same. In time, though, she thought she recognized lust in his eyes. She was flattered that someone many years younger might find her desirable. Reminding herself of not only her marriage vow but the danger to Barsad should Siddig suspect anything, Maysam did her best to avoid Barsad for a time except for the interactions his daily duties required. When she would cut their conversations short, it was easy to see the disappointment on his face, but he never pressured her to remain in his presence any longer than she wanted.

            It came as a blow to her when one evening Siddig arrived in their bedroom with a dark, distracted scowl, and said, “Barsad has just expressed his intention to leave us.”

            Maysam did her best to hide her instant despair. “Why? He’s said nothing to me about it.”

            “No doubt he fears you will talk him out of it, which is exactly what you are going to do. I have no time to try to find someone to take his place. He has served us well.”

            “Did he say why he wants to leave?”

            “He gave me a couple of vague reasons, but I think there is a woman involved.”

            Maysam turned away to keep her expression from Siddig. Her first reaction to his conjecture was a strange wave of jealousy and surprise, but in the next instant she wondered if her husband’s speculation was unfounded. She felt she knew Barsad well enough to have sensed or heard about a liaison. There were few secrets in the palace. If he was sleeping with one of the servants or pursuing someone local, wouldn’t she have heard about it?

            “I never thought Barsad would be foolish enough to fall in love with one of the women from the village,” Siddig grumbled. “There are few Christians here, and no follower of Islam will allow his daughter to marry an infidel, especially an American. So he is throwing away much only to be disappointed by some foolish girl.”

            “Shall I speak with him tonight?”

            “Let him sleep on what I’ve said just now to him. In the morning, talk to him. I will be gone for a week. He has assured me that he will not depart until my return. He won’t leave you vulnerable here with someone less qualified.”

            Maysam had slept little that night. Her heart raced, and her stomach ached, sensations that puzzled and unnerved her. Why should she feel so frantic? She and Barsad were not lovers. They were, however, more than just employer and employee. They had become fast friends, perhaps the only friend each other had. Since Melisande’s banishment Maysam had felt completely alone. She had not fully comprehended the scope of her isolation until she had opened up to Barsad. He could so easily make her laugh. She could not bear the thought of losing him.

            The next morning, he was uncharacteristically late for breakfast. Maysam waited anxiously, fingers drumming on the table. She was just about to send one of the servants to find him when he appeared on the veranda. He looked as if he had not slept, hair sticking up in tufts, eyes drooping, lips set in an aberrant straight line. Rarely did she smell cigarettes when he would come to breakfast but today the scent was heavy upon him.

            “Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled, sitting across from her, accidentally jarring the small table and rumpling the white linen tablecloth.

            “I was afraid your coffee would get cold. If it has, I will send for more.”

            “No, it’s fine,” he said in a raspy voice even before sipping it.

            A painful silence stretched between them with only a glance or two from him as he straightened the cloth and spread his napkin in his lap.

            Maysam could not restrain herself from getting straight to the point. “Siddig tells me you’ve given him your resignation.”

            His gaze darted to her, lips parted slightly. Surprise. Obviously he had asked Siddig not to tell her so soon. “Yes.” Barsad cleared his throat. “Yes, I have.”

            “He said the reasons you gave him didn’t ring true.”

            Barsad started to stammer, giving her a half grin as if to dismiss their disbelief as humorous.

            “He said,” Maysam continued, stirring sugar into her cup to give her hands something to do, “that he thinks you are leaving because of a woman.”

            The grin vanished, and color darkened Barsad’s high cheekbones. “He said that?”

            “Yes.”

            “And you believe him?”

            “I don’t know. Would you like to tell me?”

            “I would, but…I can’t.”

            “Are you in some sort of trouble, John? Perhaps I can help you.”

            “No. There’s nothing for you to do. I’m not in trouble, not yet anyway.”

            “Have I done something wrong?”

            “Of course not. Something’s just…come up. It’s a professional decision, not a personal one.”

            A lie. She could see it in his body language. Normally he was relaxed around her, but now he sat straight and stiff.

            “I wish I could change your mind, John.”

            “Nah, don’t worry about it. I can recommend a couple guys to replace me. You’ll be safe.”

            “That’s not why I wish you would reconsider. True, you have been exemplary in your duties, but what I will hate losing is someone I think of as a dear friend as well as a flawless protector.”

            His flush deepened, and he fiddled with his napkin. “Well…I’ll hate losing you, too.” He rummaged in his pants pocket and took out a small notepad and pen, the one he used every morning at breakfast to jot down things that needed to be accomplished for the day or items he needed to discuss with her. “Um…why don’t we talk today’s business? I’m not leaving right away, so we’ll still have time to enjoy each other’s company. I’m staying until your husband gets back from Cairo.”

            The following two days Barsad always gave excuses for why he could not come to her salon for afternoon tea. Breakfasts continued to be strictly business. If she started to discuss something personal, he steered her away or cut his meal short with another excuse for why he had duties to attend to elsewhere on the property. Maysam’s frustration nearly moved her to tears. She needed to know the truth. If he was indeed entangled with some woman, then she could perhaps let him go, but if he was leaving because of deeper feelings that may have been cultivated by their time together, she wanted to hear the truth from his own lips, not simply from the hopeful voices in her head.

            On the third day, she demanded that he come to the salon, claiming she had some immediate business to which he needed to attend. She wore her most striking dress, made of dark red raw silk, heavily embellished with gold embroidery on the v-neckline and the hem, along with sequin sprays. Other embellishments included crystals and beads. Around her neck she wore a gold choker worth thousands of dollars. She even freshened her make-up before going to the salon. Her provocative preparations were foolish and brash, she told herself, but they would serve a purpose. If John Barsad did indeed have any feelings for her, she knew he would react to her unexpected efforts with her appearance. And she needed a strong reaction if she was to change his mind about leaving. Although she knew she was playing with fire, potentially leading herself and Barsad into a dangerous situation, her vanity and desperation made her reckless.

            Impatiently she awaited him in the salon. Again he was unusually late. When he crossed the threshold, he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at her. Maysam remained on the settee, the tea service before her on a low table. With alarming speed, her body reacted to the sight of him with a gush of warmth between her thighs, making her blush.

            “Are you expecting guests?” Barsad asked.

            “Only you. Close the door please. Come. Sit down.”

            Feigning indifference, she turned her attention to the tea service, pouring a cup for each of them. Barsad managed to uproot himself and shuffle over to a nearby chair.

            Maysam patted the settee once. “Sit here.”

            “Um…are you feeling all right, Maysam?”

            “Yes, of course.” Again she patted the upholstery as if she offered this invitation all the time.

            “I was told you had something urgent to discuss.”

            “Yes.” She handed him a cup and saucer, then her eyes flicked to the settee to emphasize her ignored order.

            Taking the cup, Barsad cleared his throat. The china made a slight chatter, as if his hand was unsteady. As he sat, Maysam chanced a discreet glance at the crotch of his khaki fatigues. She smiled to herself. Perhaps this would not be so difficult after all.

            “What is it?” he asked.

            “I need to know the truth about why you are leaving. You said you would tell me if you could. What stops you?”

            Barsad sighed in frustration. “You said this is urgent.”

            “It is to me. You are leaving in a few days, and you have been avoiding me.”

            “No, I haven’t.”

            “John.” She sipped her tea then set the cup and saucer back on the table. “You have worked for us for quite some time now, and you and I have become good friends. There is nothing you can’t tell me. And I know you well enough to know you aren’t telling the truth when you said your resignation is for business reasons, not personal. If it wasn’t personal, you wouldn’t be avoiding me. I need to know if I’ve done something wrong.”

            “Trust me, you haven’t done anything wrong, Maysam.”

            “If there is a girl, one of the servants perhaps, as Siddig suspects, I assure you there won’t be any repercussions for her after you are gone.”

            Barsad settled himself a moment, sighed. “It’s dangerous for both of us if I tell you.”

            “Why?” Her heart began to beat faster, her temperature rising. She felt like a young girl with her first crush. Every ounce of good sense in her screamed for her to move away from him, to another chair, but she needed to stay, she _must_ stay if she had any chance of changing his mind.

            Her simple question had seemed to deflate him a bit. He asked, “You really don’t know?”

            “Of course not.” But she had hope…

            Again he hesitated, his gaze roaming over her dress. “Siddig thinks I’m leaving because of a woman.”

            “Yes.”

            “Well…he’s right.”

            Maysam held her breath, waited.

            “But that woman isn’t a servant, Maysam.” The next words came near a whisper, as if the room had ears. “It’s you.”

            Hearing his admission left her speechless, her nerve ends tingling.

            “If your husband knew I’m attracted to you, we both know what he’d do to me. And he might think you led me on. Siddig’s a jealous man. He could just as easily take this out on you.”

            “I’m so much older than you, John,” she managed to stutter out. “He would never think an attractive younger man like you could possibly—”

            “You’re a beautiful woman. I don’t look at you and think of age. Trust me, I look at you and think of other things. Siddig knows any man would want to be with you. He’s no fool. And neither am I. That’s why I have to leave.”

            “No.” She gently took his cup, which had been ignored in his hand all this time. Setting it next to hers on the table, she impulsively took his hands in hers, turning even more toward him. “John, I don’t want you to leave. I couldn’t bear it. Before I told you about Melisande, I was isolated and lonely, angry and helpless, but since then, your friendship has meant the world to me. You have made me feel alive and valued.”

            “I understand, but you have to understand why I can’t stay. I feel like an idiot right now, admitting all this to you.”

            “No, you mustn’t. I am beyond flattered. I’m pleased, I’m humbled.” She stared at their physical union. His tanned skin seemed to burn beneath her. “You must know that I feel the same way.”

            “No, Maysam. Don’t even say it, even if it was true.”

            “It is true.” She touched his stubbled cheek, whispered again, “It is true.” Her thumb brushed against his lips. “And if you don’t kiss me right now…”

            She was unsure how to end her sentence without sounding like a schoolgirl, but there was no need, for Barsad took her in his arms and kissed her. A long, passionate kiss that she returned with as much fervor, her arms encircling his slim, hard body with equal fierceness, afraid he might try to escape. She had never kissed a man other than Siddig. The danger of it, the desire and returned passion swallowed her and made her never want to part. She found herself powerless, sinking back against a pillow nestled against the settee’s armrest. Her fingers ran through Barsad’s hair, clutching tufts, reveling in the smooth softness, so different from the slick, wiry curls of her husband. Barsad’s scent, muskier than Siddig’s, nearly drown her, but she could not get enough of him.

            Maysam opened her legs to him, draping one up the back of the settee, the silk of her dress gliding away to reveal the flesh of her long brown leg. The other wrapped around his hips as he pressed against her, his hardness irrefutable. She stroked him through the fabric of his pants, causing him to moan. She fumbled with his belt buckle. He was too busy devouring her to help. Desperate, she managed to slip her hand past his waistband, and he groaned, kissed her ear and whispered, “Are you sure?”

            “Yes. Hurry.”

            The closed door to the salon had no lock, but neither servants nor her brother would enter her sanctuary without knocking. Yet there was the possibility that someone might forget…

            As Barsad’s shaking hands freed his belt and zipper, Maysam shifted the folds of her dress out of the way. She was dripping and hot before his freed erection touched her there. Her breath caught when it rubbed against her, taking on her slickness.

            “Hurry,” she whispered again, hoarse and trembling in anticipation.

            “Are you afraid? I can stop—”

            “No,” she gasped urgently, taking his face in her hands. “When I’m with you, I’m never afraid. You’ve made me strong.”

            She kissed him again, mouth open and ravenous. Her hand shifted along his shirt, to his buttocks, clutched him there and urged his hips against hers, then slipping again beneath his pants to enjoy the heat of his skin, the smooth curve of his ass, the quiver of his glutes as he entered her at last.

            Their union was regrettably brief because of the vulnerability that loomed over them in the form of that unlocked door. Barsad was gentle at first, but Maysam would have none of it. Her own touch and movement urged him on, desperate for release before it was too late. If they were to be found out in the next few minutes, she wanted something to remember this moment by.

            Even in such a brief encounter, there was a vast difference between Barsad and Siddig. Siddig, though not rough, was straightforward and animal-like, where Barsad was more skillful and creative, tempting and teasing her body until she begged in his ear. It took all of her strength not to throw her head back and cry out when they came. Instead she buried her exclamation against his shoulder before going limp beneath him, drained and panting.

            “Jesus, Maysam,” he breathed in her ear, spent. “Jesus. This is insane. We’re crazy.”

            She opened her eyes to see his small grin.

            “Yes,” she murmured, lifting a suddenly-heavy hand to caress his cheek, “we are. But I would have it no other way. You must stay. You can’t leave me, not after this. I’ll wither and die.”

            Barsad brushed the long brunette hair away from her sweaty face, grinned again. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Then he kissed her, this time tender and sweet, leaving her just as weak-kneed as he had with his more passionate kiss.

            Now, years later, Maysam closed her eyes on the warm veranda and smiled at these memories. After that initial encounter, their affair ran on for some time. They were never foolish enough to be with each other when her husband was home, but as soon as Siddig left on one of his frequent business trips, they found ways to be together, usually deep in the night when all the servants slept. Being with Barsad brought life back to Maysam and helped her climb from the dark pit in her mind where she had lived since losing Melisande, never to return.

            It was Barsad who had broken off the affair. It happened after they had thrown caution to the wind when she had traveled to see relatives in Saudi Arabia for two weeks. She had stolen into his room on the last night, unable to stay away from his bed any longer. When she left his room a couple of hours later, she thought she detected someone in the dark hall. Though she never knew if someone had indeed seen her, it was enough to concern Barsad. If he had been seen leaving her room, the slip would not have been so disconcerting to him, but knowing how Maysam would be viewed if she was thought to be the instigator, he told her they had to call it quits. No amount of arguing or tears could convince him otherwise, though she knew the break was equally painful to him.

            He had gone away for several months then, having acquired a leave of absence from Siddig, claiming his mother was deathly ill back in West Virginia. Barsad made Maysam promise that she would not let their break-up and his absence send her back into the darkness, and she did her best to comply. The weeks were difficult, however, especially because she feared he would never return, that his stated reason for leaving had been a ruse simply to make it easier on her.

            When he had come back, he had looked tired and older. Some of that burden lifted when he saw her. Yet he avoided her as much as possible in his work. Eventually they were able to spend more time together without suffering too much. Maintaining his friendship was even more important to Maysam than the physical past they had shared, and she had often told him as much.

            Feeling the weight of her memories and all that she had loved and lost over the years, Maysam decided it was time to go to bed.

            When she thought of what she had planned for Barsad tonight, her private smile was bittersweet.


	9. Chapter 9

            Once back in his room, Barsad stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and sprawled on the large bed. He propped himself up on pillows and turned the television on to watch the continuing news coverage of the terrorist attacks in America. Having taken a cold beer from the small refrigerator, he popped the tab and drank.

            Listening to the reporter on television, he felt a slight nudge of nostalgia for his home country. True, he hadn’t been back there in years prior to the Gotham operation, but he still felt a touch of loyalty, not that he would ever admit that to anyone, especially Bane. Bane wouldn’t understand, and he’d certainly see the emotion as a weakness. Barsad grinned when he thought of Bane ever being in the hollers of West Virginia. Yet perhaps the mountains and wild places would appeal to the grumpy old bear. The people, hell, no. And the dislike would sure as shit be mutual, even if Bane hadn’t taken over Gotham.

            A soft knock surprised Barsad. Hisham, he guessed.

            “Come in.”

            When the door opened, he almost choked on his beer. Sanjana stepped inside, her attention touching him only for a moment before she stared at the rug beneath her feet. She wore a cotton sherbet-colored _lehenga choli_ with plain white embroidery. The color worked well with her caramel skin and dark-walnut hair.

            “I am sorry for disturbing you so late, sir,” she said in Hindi. “I brought fresh towels.”

            Barsad set his beer on the nightstand. “No need to apologize,” he replied in her native language. “Thanks. I left the used ones hanging on the shower bar. I can get them for you, if you’d like.”

            Her brown eyes widened. “Oh, no, sir.” She hurried into the bathroom. Barsad, finding her surprised reaction endearing, grinned to himself and folded his arms behind his head to await her emergence.

            She returned to the bedroom, the damp towels draped over her arm. With her eyes still down, she paused at the foot of his bed. Barsad noticed a different aspect to her discomfort now. She subtly chewed her bottom lip, a full, sweet-looking temptation. Her hands fidgeted with the towels. He sensed more than self-consciousness. There was nervous fear.

            “Is there anything else you need, sir?”

            “No, I’m good, Sanjana. Thanks.”

            To his amazement, she remained standing there. “Are you sure, sir?”

            He wished she would lift her head so he could read her eyes. “I’m sure.”

            Again Sanjana hesitated. “Madam says I am to give you whatever you ask for.”

            “The towels are enough,” he insisted, though his body was prodding him otherwise. _Shit,_ he wondered _, is she suggesting what I think she’s suggesting? No, Maysam wouldn’t do that…would she?_

            “Madam would be displeased if I did not do all that I could for you.”

            “There’s nothing more you need to do.”

            For a fleeting moment Sanjana’s eyes flicked to his before she asked, “Am I not pretty to you?”

            He couldn’t tell if she was insulted by his rejection or if she was using this question as a tactic to sway him.

            “Pretty, no. Gorgeous, yes.”

            Was that a tiny smile he detected?

            “Listen, Sanjana, it’s all right. You don’t have to stay.”

            “Madam will be displeased if I do not.”

            “Don’t worry about Maysam. I’ll talk to her in the morning.”

            “If I leave right away, she will know. She will ask me. She will think I disobeyed her.”

            Barsad considered her nervous fingers. “Did Maysam go to bed?”

            “She is retiring now, sir.”

            “Well, I tell you what: why don’t you sit down for a bit and watch television with me? After a while, Maysam will be asleep, and you can go to your room. Then in the morning I’ll talk to her first thing.”

            Sanjana frowned. “You will insult her, sir.”

            “I’ll make sure I don’t. We’re long-time friends, she and I. I’ll thank her for such a…generous and tempting offer, but I’ll make it clear that all my partners must be willing. Any other way violates a code I’m sworn to.”

            “A code?”

            “Yeah. I belong to a…a brotherhood. Our ideals are… Well, let’s just say we aren’t like any other men you know. Here.” He slipped off the bed and approached her. Instinctively she took a step backward. “I’ll just put these towels back in the bathroom—”

            “But, sir, I should do that.”

            Barsad had the towels in his arms before she could finish her sentence. “Go ahead and sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

            “Sir, I can’t.”

            “Sure, you can. I insist. You said Maysam ordered you to give me whatever I ask for, right? Well, I’m asking you to sit down and keep me company.”

            When he returned from the bathroom, Sanjana had perched on the edge of a chair at his cherry wood roll-top desk. She looked like a bird ready to fly at a moment’s notice.

            “Can I get you something to drink?” Barsad asked. “Some ice tea or lemonade?”

            She again looked uncomfortable and slightly afraid at his offer to do menial tasks for her. “Just water.”

            As Barsad retrieved a bottle from his small refrigerator, he nodded toward the television. “Have you heard about the terrorist attacks in America?”

            “Yes. It’s terrible.”

            He opened the bottle and offered it to her. Her hands looked soft, too soft for a servant. Obviously this was her first job in such a profession.

            “Are you from America, sir?”

            “Hey, listen, you don’t need to call me sir, not in here anyway. Call me John.”

            “That would be disrespectful.”

            “Uh-uh.” He waggled a finger at her and grinned. “Remember, you’re supposed to do whatever I ask.”

            She tried to hide her frown by drinking. Barsad couldn’t help but watch her full lips encircle the mouth of the bottle. He admired her elegant neck as she swallowed.

            “And, yes, to answer your question, I’m American.” He returned to the bed and used the remote control to lower the television’s volume. If he hadn’t thought she would be uneasy without the bridge of news coverage in the background, he would have turned the TV off.

            “It must be painful for you to watch that.”

            “Not so much. I left America when I was young. Only been back there a couple of times.”

            Barsad wondered if she had had a television wherever she lived before working at the palace, and if she had, had she seen him during the Gotham siege? Had she seen him or Bane on any news reports since their disappearance? Was that why she seemed ill at ease when she had entered this room? Or was her nervousness only because of being prostituted by her employer? _God damn it, Maysam_.

            If Sanjana did know his identity, no doubt Maysam had threatened her life and the lives of her family members if she dared breathe a word to anyone that he and Bane were staying at the palace. Whatever the tactic, Maysam was confident in her power over the girl to allow her to serve them.

            “Sanjana, do you know who I am?”

            “What…what do you mean, sir?”

            “John.”

            “J-John. You are John Barsad.”

            “Yes, but I mean do you know my background, my notoriety? And Bane’s?”

            She stared at the television, giving him his answer.

            “Is that why you’re afraid of me?”

            “Maybe.”

            “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

            She gave an unconvinced nod.

            “Where’s your home?”

            “Jaipur.”

            “You have family?”

            “Yes. My father and mother. I am the oldest of five.”

            “And how did you end up here?”

            “I needed work.”

            “Everyone does. But not just anyone can work here.”

            “Hisham’s brother recommended me.”

            “Well, if he’s related to Hisham, he’d know working for Amir El Fadil isn’t necessarily a safe position, especially for a woman.”

            “I had little choice. My family is poor. I couldn’t stay in Jaipur anymore.”

            “Why not?” He could tell by the deepened tone of her voice that her reasons had nothing to do with poverty.

            “I would rather not say.”

            “Your secret’s safe with me.” He offered a warm smile to assure her.

            For a moment she seemed captivated by his expression, then she blushed and turned away. “It is too shameful to tell you. You are a stranger.”

            Barsad considered pressing her but decided not to because he could tell she was truly ashamed. No need to spook her, especially when he knew he or Bane could get the truth from Hisham or Maysam.

            “Are you married, Sanjana?”

            “No.” She faltered. “Are you?”

            “No.”

            “Never?”

            “Never.”

            “But how can this be? You are a handsome man.” Her boldness made her blush.

            “Bane says I’m married to my gun.”

            “He is your employer?”

            Barsad laughed lightly. “No. We work together.”

            “He is a frightening man to look at. Do you fear him?”

            “Bane can scare the shit outta me now and then, but I love him like a brother.”

            “Does he always wear that mask?”

            “Mostly.”

            “Why? It looks very uncomfortable.”

            “Well, now, I’m not at liberty to say much about Bane.”

            “Madam seems to care very much for him…and you.”

            “The feeling is mutual. Like I said, Maysam and I go back a long way. I used to work for her and her husband when he was still alive.”

            “Yes, Hisham told me.”

            “Did he?” Barsad grinned. “What else did Hisham say?”

            Having admitted her clandestine curiosity, she grew flustered. “Nothing. Just that you and Mr. Bane are dear to Madam, and that I should serve you well.”

            “And so you have. I’m sorry Maysam sent you here. I don’t want you to think badly of her…or me.”

            Sanjana shrugged one shoulder. “She wanted to make you happy. And I think she wanted to test me since I have been here only a few days.”

            That Barsad could believe. “Well, don’t think that I asked her to send you here. You’re a tempting woman, Sanjana, and I hope you’re never in a situation like this again. And be careful around Amir. He’s an unpredictable dog.”

            “Madam promised me that I would serve only her.”

            “Yes, well, let’s hope she’s able to keep that promise. I’ve seen a lot of servants come and go in this household, and I assure you you’re the most beautiful. That won’t be lost on Amir. Be careful to stay as far away from him as possible.”

            Sanjana sipped her water. She seemed more relaxed now. “Is it true about his wife?”

            “Is what true?”

            “That Mr. Bane killed her.”

            “Bane’s killed a lot of people.” He tipped back his beer, drained it then crushed the can in his hand. The ominous gesture seemed to serve its purpose because Sanjana didn’t ask more about Iba.

            “Mr. Bane is married to Madam’s granddaughter?”

            Barsad stifled a laugh. “No.”

            “But they are…they are…” Her eyes flicked in the direction of Bane’s suite.

            “Fucking each other?” He chuckled. “Yeah, like rabbits about right now.”

            Sanjana’s eyes widened for a moment, but Barsad’s expression caused her to hide a tiny, embarrassed laugh behind her hand.

            “Don’t be scandalized, Sanjana. Those two are as good as married. They’re meant for each other. Talia just doesn’t realize it yet.”

            “She is a beautiful woman. She must have many men pursuing her.”

            “She did. But Bane’s the only one who can handle her.”

            “Is she as strong-willed as her grandmother?”

            “More so.”

            Sanjana nodded thoughtfully.

            Barsad considered inviting her to sit on the bed with him where she would be far more comfortable than in the straight-backed wooden desk chair, but he decided against it. He could feel her trust growing and didn’t want to damage that if she misinterpreted his invitation. _Fuck, I could use a cigarette!_ But he remained on the bed, propped up by pillows, with a light blanket to hide his erection.

            They chatted for another hour about the terrorist attacks and about their countries and cultures. By then Sanjana had completely relaxed and moved to sit on a loveseat that was a bit closer to Barsad and the television. All the while, Barsad cursed his chivalry. _Damn it, why should Bane have all the fun?_

            “Well,” he forced himself to say, “it’s probably safe for you to go now. We’re both yawning, so you must be as tired as I am.”

            Pressing her lips together in a straight line, she nodded and gracefully stood. Was that reluctance he saw? His erection had given up some time ago, so he safely left his bed to escort her to the door. When he put his hand on the doorknob, she shocked him by placing her hand over his. She was so close, smelled so damn good, spicy and sweet.

            “Thank you,” she murmured.

            “For what?” he strangled out.

            “For being kind, for not making me do this. If Madam releases me, I want you to know that—”

            “Maysam isn’t gonna release you, Sanjana. I promise you that.”

            She smiled with little confidence. “Good night, John.”

            For an instant he thought she might kiss him or that he would kiss her, but before he could move, she had slipped beyond the door.

#

            Talia’s bare feet padded across the marble floor as she returned to bed from the half bath. The room was lit only by a dozen large candles spread throughout. The tenuous light flickered and danced against the sheer curtains drawn to shroud the enormous bed. On his back, Bane lay as a shadow, unmoving, snoring softly through his mask. She smiled in amusement. In the brief time it had taken her to use the toilet, he had drifted off. No wonder, considering his exertions last night and thus far this evening.

            She slipped back into bed and snuggled up to Bane without disturbing him. At first she was going to close her eyes but instead she found herself watching her lover, half expecting him to awaken. He slept on, peaceful for a change, unburdened. It pleased Talia to think she was responsible for that peace.

            Light from the candles on a nearby nightstand trembled in fleeting patterns against his naked body. The air conditioning had dried his perspiration. Talia’s admiring gaze went the length of him. His Gotham injuries and subsequent surgery and recuperation had robbed him of muscle and weight, but over the weeks he had worked diligently to build himself back up. He had spent several hours every day in the gym at _’Eth Alth’eban_ and previously here at the palace. Talia knew she should exercise, too, but she had not the will to do so, no matter how much Bane encouraged her. Maybe if he went tomorrow, she would accompany him; it would make him happy, and perhaps it would stir her motivation as well.

            As she watched him sleep, her thoughts returned to the conversation in the salon with her grandmother. Though Maysam’s wisdom was not always easy to accept, Talia knew it was most often infallible. Talia had not delved deep into the psychological reasons behind returning to Bane’s bed. It had seemed simple: she needed him and he needed her. But, of course, her grandmother had seen it as anything but simple. Maysam viewed situations and behaviors as a mother would, whereas Talia lacked the sagacity gained by being a mother.

            Talia studied the rise and fall of Bane’s scarred chest. What did she truly feel for this selfless man? Far away in Gotham, separated from him for long stretches, she never had to contemplate such a thing. When they had their occasional rendezvouses here during those years, she had not analyzed the situation; she merely enjoyed the respite and Bane’s loving company. A part of her had expected that sooner or later he would grow tired of being secondary to her playthings in Gotham, and find a woman who would suit him—he did, after all, enjoy sex as much as any man. With someone as virile as Bane, certainly celibacy must have been a trial, even with his masterful self-discipline. But if she gently probed or teased him about other lovers, he had always denied _resorting_ —as he put it—to seeking out others. In private, Barsad confirmed such claims.

            “Do you even need to ask?” Barsad had once questioned.

            Yes, a part of her had to. The part that her grandmother had identified—her belief that she was unworthy of Bane’s love and that she did not deserve to be loved by anyone. From her youth with the League of Shadows she had been trained to view men as nothing more than playthings to be manipulated, beings beneath her standing. Her father had wanted her to consider Bane in that light, but much to Rā’s al Ghūl’s chagrin, she never had. There was no one she respected more, including even her grandmother.

            “He was going to kill Bruce Wayne, you know,” Barsad had revealed to her. “He told me. At city hall after you ordered him to let Wayne die in the bomb blast, he told Wayne he was going to kill him instead. He had that shotgun, remember? He told me he was just about to pull the trigger when Selena Kyle blasted him with the Bat-Pod, the bitch.”

            “Bane wouldn’t disobey me,” she insisted.

            “Sure, he would. He’s done it several times. Not to be a dick but because he felt his decision was better in the long run for you. You had revealed your identity to Wayne, who could in turn tell the whole world. Bane wasn’t gonna take the chance Wayne would get away from him a second time, especially if our plan for Gotham failed.”

            Talia remembered that fateful day in City Hall. With her father’s knife buried deep in Wayne’s side, she had explained exactly who she was, that Miranda Tate had been a fabrication used to easily captured his weak heart. She had told Wayne about a real man, one deserving of her love, who had protected her in prison and dedicated his life to her, and of how she would not have survived without him. She said all of that while fixing Bane’s damaged mask, restoring his strength enough so he could once again protect her as she finished taunting Wayne with what she had planned for his precious Gotham.

            Talia would never forget Bane’s eyes during his time of vulnerability, sitting limp and defenseless on that cold floor, allowing her to tell his story, their story, all the while watching her silently as occasional tears of pain and sorrow trickled from the corner of his eye. She knew he believed he had failed her; she could see it in his bleary stare. And she could see how much he loved her, even then when she was laying bare his pitiable past to their enemy.

            Then, when she left him to secure the safety of their nuclear bomb, she had looked into those eyes for what she thought was the final time. She saw everything there: their life together in prison, her mother’s death, Bane’s rescue of her before those same killers could savage her as they had savaged her mother, the shame and sorrow of his excommunication, his absolute love for her, his desire to speak those words before it was too late. But he remained silent, knowing her love for him was on a different plain then. And she had left him with those terrible, inadequate words: “Good-bye, my friend.”

            Reflecting later on Barsad’s revelation that Bane had been about to disobey her and kill Bruce Wayne, she had not been surprised, especially when she remembered the adoration and pride in Bane’s eyes in City Hall. Bane had been able to accept her sleeping with the rich and famous of Gotham for the sake of their cause, but her doing so with Bruce Wayne, their sworn enemy and the murderer of her father, had infuriated him. It amazed her that he had not killed Wayne during the two men’s first encounter in Gotham’s sewers. After all, Bane had known that Wayne had just come from his tryst with Miranda Tate at Wayne Manor. No, he had wanted to make Wayne suffer in the same way he had suffered in the pit prison. A quick death would show mercy, something Bane lacked. For Wayne, nothing short of lengthy torture would do.

            “Good-bye, my friend.” The words still haunted Talia. She should have called him “my love.” Even if it was not completely true, she would have given him that last crumb of triumph over Bruce Wayne. He had deserved at least that, especially there within hearing of the traitorous murderer she had slept with. Bane had not reacted to her inadequate farewell, instead he merely watched her march out of the building. The reaction had come afterwards, when he had leveled that shotgun on Wayne. If only he had been allowed to pull the trigger and achieve some modicum of satisfaction.

            As Bane now slept, Talia’s finger drifted up to his mask, caressed the cold grating above his mouth as she had done in City Hall when she said good-bye. Bane stirred slightly, drew in a long breath as if detecting her scent, then awoke. Drowsily, his eyes smiled at her.

            “I am sorry I fell asleep, my love. You have worn out this old man.”

            “Nonsense. You have the stamina of Adonis. Perhaps I have bored you.”

            He chuckled. “Never.” He put his arm around her, and she pillowed her head on his massive bicep. “I enjoy simply lying next to you like this as much as coupling.”

            Talia playfully tweaked his nipple. “You don’t have to speak like a romantic to me, Bane. I know what men truly like most.”

            He raised an amused eyebrow. “Am I like other men, little mouse?”

            “Of course not.”

            “You don’t believe that I can lie here with you the rest of the night without coupling?”

            “Why would you want to?”

            “So I can prove my point.”

            “There’s no need. I believe if anyone could have that much self-control it’s you, _habibi_.”

            “Indeed.” He gently nuzzled her hair with the mask. “What were you thinking just then when I awoke? There was something in your eyes, something distant.”

            “Just memories.”

            “Good ones?”

            “Some,” she lied.

            They fell silent for a time as Bane stroked her hair. Relaxing, Talia sighed.

            “Did you and your grandmother enjoy your talk?”

            Surprised at how close to her recent musings his thoughts ran, she hesitated for a moment before answering. “Of course.”

            “And what did you talk about, if I may ask? Hopefully not about this foolish idea of yours to relinquish your position.”

            “It’s not foolish, and, yes, we talked about that among other things. You know _Jiddah_ —always giving me advice.”

            “Sound advice.”

            “Nothing but.”

            “Of course she will agree with your temporary desire to step down. She never wanted you to be involved with the League. If your contemptable grandfather had not been alive at the time of your escape from the pit, I’ve always believed that she would have kept you here, perhaps even lied to you that your father was dead and never told him about you. She knew what a life with him would mean for you. She has lamented the fact that you have spent so much of your life without other women, _sensible_ women.”

            “My desire to step down isn’t temporary, Bane.”

            “That is what you think now, _habibati_. But I believe in time you would regret abandoning your father’s cause.”

            “It’s his cause, not mine. Not any longer. I am no longer worthy of it.”

            “Talia—”

            “Please.” She raised herself on one elbow. “Let’s not talk about these things now. Not tonight.”

            His frown changed to a soothing smile. “As you wish, my dear.”

            Talia settled back down, kissed his shoulder. After a time, she murmured, “You don’t feel that I am using you, do you, _habibi_? You don’t think me that cruel, do you?”

            “Are these your grandmother’s words or your own?”

            “My own, of course.”

            “I never profess to know any female’s motivations,” he said with a hint of humor. “Men are so much simpler.”

            “You didn’t answer my questions.”

            “Of course I don’t think you cruel. I know you love me in your own way, that you are with me because you want to be.”

            “ _Jiddah_ thinks we should have an understanding. She’s afraid I’m playing with you. I don’t want you to think that. It’s just—”

            “ _Habibati_ , I require no understanding between us. I am happy with whatever time we have together. This—tonight, last night—has meant the world to me, to have you back in my arms, for whatever reason you have. The walls that had gone up between us when you were in Gotham have crumbled down. That’s how it feels to me, and that’s enough. Miranda Tate is gone. No death has pleased me more.”

            “You are the world’s most patient man, _habibi_ , and only you could still love me after all I’ve done.”

            “Any man who couldn’t love you is no man at all. Now, hush. You don’t have to talk to me about this. I fear your grandmother has gone too far this time.”

            “She means well.”

            “Of course she does. But you have endured so much. The only thing that is important right now for both of us is restoring your health, both physically and mentally. That is all I’m concerned with.”

            Talia smiled and closed her eyes. He always made everything so easy for her. Perhaps that was part of the problem. Perhaps she should stop allowing it.

            “I do love you, you know,” she murmured.

            “I know, little mouse.”

            “When I said good-bye to you at City Hall, I should have said so much more.”

            “It was neither the time nor the place for sentimentalities, Talia. I hold no ill will against you for it.”

            “You should. I’ve treated you badly. Maybe I still am. Maybe I shouldn’t be here—”

            Abruptly, Bane raised up on his elbows. “Talia, stop. You must stop thinking about the past. The only thing that matters is right now. You will never recover if you keep flogging yourself. Must I get angry with you over this?”

            Cowed, she buried her face in a pillow. “No.”

            “Good.” He pushed a couple of pillows behind him and sat back against them. “Now, my troubled dove, come here.”

            Slowly she obeyed, allowing his arms to enfold her and draw her onto his lap. She cuddled against his chest, forced herself to relax again, his enveloping touch helping.

            “Now, no more talking. Let us rest for a moment longer, then we will shower and rid ourselves of this rancorous chlorine smell from the spa. The warm water and steam will help clear your mind.” He guided her hand down to his resurrecting manhood. “Then I will do my part to distract you from your travels to the past.”


	10. Chapter 10

            Maysam awaited Barsad on the dining room veranda. Sanjana had just delivered breakfast and was coming through the dining room when Barsad arrived. He was pleased to see she had not been turned out on the streets. With a troubled expression, she wished him good morning.

            “Everything OK?” he quietly asked.

            “I’m not sure,” she whispered.

            “Did she ask you?”

            “Yes.”

            “You told her the truth?”

            “Yes.”

            “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her about it.”

            “Thank you.”

            He smiled to reassure her, but Sanjana quickly turned away and left the room.

            “Good morning, Maysam” Barsad said as he stepped onto the veranda and took his seat.

            “Good morning, John.” Maysam wore a tight expression as she spooned sugar into her coffee.

            “Looks like you were right about Bane and Talia not joining us.” He forced a grin.

            Maysam’s spoon tinkled against her cup as she stirred vigorously. “I had planned for you to have as enjoyable a night as they did.”

            His grin died, and he cleared his throat. “Maysam—”

            “I hope I did not insult you. Apparently I misinterpreted your opinion of Sanjana.”

            “No, you didn’t insult me, and no, you didn’t misinterpret anything. She’s a beautiful girl. What man wouldn’t want her?”

            “Then why didn’t you take her into your bed?”

            “I’m surprised you have to ask, actually.”

            “She is only a servant, John. And she is no virgin. Did you think she was?”

            “That wasn’t why I didn’t sleep with her. Jesus, Maysam, think about it. Think about where I am. This is your home.” He lowered his voice. “This is where you and I were together. It just wouldn’t seem right for me to be whoring around right down the hall from you.”

            “Sanjana is no whore.”

            “I wasn’t referring to her.”

            Maysam pulled up short when she fully realized what he was saying. She laughed humorlessly. “Oh, John, thank you for your sentimentality toward me, but I don’t believe you. The real reason you didn’t sleep with her is because you are a gentleman. I had wondered if that would come into play.”

            Barsad laughed cynically. “C’mon, Maysam. I’m no gentleman. If I was, I never would have slept with a married woman and put her life in danger. And about the other, you should believe me. I’m serious. It would have felt…wrong, weird to sleep with someone other than you under this roof. I know you’ll think it’s nuts, but I’d feel disloyal.”

            “Well, you shouldn’t. The very fact that I’m the one who sent her to you should have told you I approved.”

            “She didn’t wanna be there, Maysam.”

            “What she wants is immaterial; she is a servant, nothing more.”

            He sighed and regrouped, reaching for a lemon scone. “I understand your culture, and I respect it. I respect you. But it’s not my culture, and it’s not my way.”

            “But you are mistaken about Sanjana. She is attracted to you. Why wouldn’t she want to sleep with you? I believe she does. That is why I was surprised when I asked her this morning if she had pleased you and she told me what had happened. She is a damaged girl with no hope for a husband. She should have been flattered to share your bed.”

            “Like the rest of the world, Maysam, she knows who and what I am.”

            Maysam bristled at his self-deprecation. “The world doesn’t know you as I know you. You are deserving of happiness, just like Haris and Talia. You should indulge yourself now and then, no matter what your League vow allows.”

            “Don’t worry, I do; just not here.”

            “Don’t be a mawkish fool, John. You owe me nothing.”

            “I owe you at least respect, and to sleep with your servant, an unwilling servant at that, would be an act of disrespect.”

            “You are mistaken.”

            “That’s how I feel, Maysam.”

            She studied the stubborn set of his jaw, and she loved him even more, regardless of his folly.

            “Perhaps you will change your mind in time. The more you see Sanjana, the more you will want her, and I believe she will eventually be happy to oblige.”

            Barsad smiled and shook his head as he poured a cup of coffee from an urn. “So what’s her story? She said she couldn’t remain in Jaipur, that something shameful happened.”

            Maysam gave a playful shrug. “What does it matter to you? You aren’t interested in the girl.”

            “I never said that.”

            “A man who refuses to sleep with a girl can’t possibly be interested in her personal life,” she teased.

            “Maysam. You know I can ask Hisham, so just spill it.” As he bit into the fresh, buttery scone, powder sugar fell to his plate like snow.

            She taunted him longer with silence before giving in. “Very well. I will tell you. As you can imagine, she was well vetted before being allowed on these grounds. The desperate are always the most pliable.”

            Barsad nodded and sipped his coffee. Maysam noted he was fresh-shaven this morning and because of it looked younger, as young as he had when they had been together. Just the two of them for breakfast reminded her of the old days, and she too felt younger. She allowed herself a moment of thankfulness that he had not slept with Sanjana. Truth be told, Barsad’s misplaced loyalty to their affair gave her great pleasure and pride.

            “Sanjana comes from a poor family. Such families are particularly impoverished when they have many mouths to feed. As you can imagine, Sanjana’s beauty gave her some value. Her parents arranged a marriage to a merchant’s son. However, the merchant had two sons, and it’s not difficult to imagine the jealousy the other brother—also unmarried—felt when he saw how beautiful his future sister-in-law was, especially when he already despised his brother and wanted Sanjana for himself. He was a disturbed boy, often in trouble. Well, he lured Sanjana to his home one day when the rest of the family was away. She was a naïve girl.”

            Barsad’s fist clenched. “He raped her?”

            “Yes, and his father returned home in the middle of it. His father—Hisham’s brother—is a good man, and he was horrified and ashamed. So when Sanjana’s father learned of the rape and threw her out of their home, Hisham’s brother begged Hisham to convince me to hire her.”

            “I take it the wedding was called off?”

            “Of course. Her betrothed wanted nothing to do with her after his brother had taken her virginity and sullied her. His mother wouldn’t allow such a union either. So, after Amir’s men did a thorough investigation into Sanjana and her family, I allowed her to serve me.”

            “How long ago was she attacked?”

            “About a month ago.”

            “Jesus, Maysam, don’t you think being with a man so soon after something like that would traumatize her even more?”

            “If the man were someone other than you, yes.”

            Barsad knew no matter how long he had lived in this country as well as in countries with similar cultures, he would never understand the class separation and the way women were treated in those societies. As warm and compassionate as Maysam could be toward him and Bane, her indifference to a fellow woman still managed to take him by surprise, especially since Sanjana had suffered the same violation as Melisande.

            He shook his head and set down his cup. “I appreciate what you were trying to do for me, Maysam, but please don’t worry about being a matchmaker.” He winked. “I have Bane, remember?”

            Maysam chuckled warmly and raised her cup in a toast to him. “The best match I ever made.”

#

            Talia’s suite faced south, so the palace building blocked the face of the rising sun. When Bane had gotten out of bed, he turned off the air conditioning and opened the veranda doors. The sheer curtains had been pulled back but not secured, so they drifted lazily to and fro in the soft breeze. The bed curtains had also been drawn on that side, Bane’s side, when he had left to shower. Last night, after their time in the spa together, he refused her request to join him in the shower. Allowing her presence would expose her to his unmasked, damaged face and the deep-seated emotions such a view conjured.

            Listening for a couple of minutes to the distant sound of running water, Talia’s fingers drummed impatiently against the pillow she hugged to her naked breasts. She still chafed at Bane’s refusal. As usual, she had argued against his overprotectiveness until he grew angry, and so she decided to let the subject drop, but not before she reminded him again that if he had reconstructive surgery, then he would not have to feel the need to hide himself from her.

            Capitulation did not sit well with Talia. This morning, while she watched him inject morphine for his time in the bathroom, she had again asked if she could join him in the shower. He had growled, “No,” and stalked out of the room.

            Just once during their lovemaking over the years had he ever allowed her to see his face, and that was only because of Talia’s persistence. As self-conscious and reluctant as he had been, he enjoyed finally being able to use his mouth to pleasure her in all sorts of ways. Sometimes he even allowed himself to verbally reminisce about the encounter. Because of that, Talia knew he longed to repeat it.

            She sighed in frustration and muttered, “This is ridiculous.” Flinging aside the satin sheets, she crawled out of bed and marched toward the bathroom.

            The only lights lit in the immense bathroom were those above the shower. The opaque shower door blurred Bane’s naked form, his back to Talia as she slipped inside the room. He stood motionless, allowing the water to wash over him in a blanketing wave. He liked to take long showers because the warm water felt good against his damaged body. Talia made no sound as she slipped toward him, but even if she had, the water would have drowned it out. Just as she reached for the shower door, he caught sight of her and tried to keep her out, but she elusively snaked inside with him.

            “Talia,” Bane snapped. “I told you—”

            “I know what you told me.” She put her arms around his waist as water splattered off him and onto her face. His rounded belly pressed beneath her breasts.

            “And yet you disobey me, like the child in the pit.”

            “Because I need to shower.”

            “You may shower after I am finished. Please go.”

            She rested her chin against his chest and gazed up at him with her most beguiling smile. He was irritated, she could see, but not truly angry. And the press of her naked body had begun to stir his manhood back to life. She rubbed ever so lightly against it, one leg gliding up and down his leg.

            “I won’t stay long. Let me see you. Let me wash you.” She touched his scarred cheek. “Please.”

            Before he could respond, Talia took the bar of soap from him. Quickly she lathered her hands and began to massage the mountain range formed by his trapezoids. He stared at her, simmering. Bane knew he should stop her, yet her touch felt so good, and the moment held an erotic fascination for him because he often fantasized about showering with her. Now here she was, under her own volition, looking at his mess of a face with nothing but affection. How could he refuse her?

            Her hands traveled down his chest in small, sweeping motions with the soap, rising and falling over the hard undulations of muscle. She took her time, her hips still moving ever so leisurely against his growing erection. When she reached his hips, she asked him to turn around so she could wash his back. Bane made sure he gave her a slight scowl before obeying.

            He closed his eyes to the spray from the showerhead and reveled in Talia’s ministrations: the gentlest touch of a fingertip as it drifted down the jagged scar along his backbone, the softness of her hands as they lingered upon his buttocks, then down his legs and back up again, now reaching between his legs to that sensitive spot at the base of his scrotum, a light tickle that caused him to expand his lungs with a great draught of air. She played with him thusly until he could take it no longer and turned around, his arms engulfing her, pressing her against his rock-hard erection. He bent to kiss her, but her playful finger against his mouth somehow stopped him.

            “Now me,” she purred, reaching for her own bar of soap left there last night, one with the scent of roses.

            Bane growled with impatience at her and with irritation at himself for still standing there. As he snatched the soap, he caught her smile of triumphant amusement as she turned her back to him. His work was rushed, tarrying only upon the sweet mounds of her buttocks, smooth and shining with water, mottled with sudsy bubbles. Briefly he slipped his fingers between her legs, giving her dripping folds a couple of strokes to torment her as she had done to him. Then he abruptly spun her about, drawing a gasp of surprise, half strangled by his sudden, devouring kiss. She allowed it, surrendered for a moment then found his hand and lifted the soap to her neck.

            “Finish,” she murmured, breathless now.

            “You are a vixen,” he grumbled. “I should still throw you out of here.”

            Talia chuckled and drew his hand with the soap down to her breasts. Before he washed those two beautiful, ripe delicacies, his face plunged between them. His kisses progressed outward, one by one, to her erect nipples where he sucked and pleasured her with his eager tongue. Then he finished washing her, watching the lazy trails of suds snake down her flawless skin to the tile then flow toward the drain behind him. On his knees, he explored her hot folds with his tongue. She moaned and dug her fingernails into his shoulders, her pelvis thrusting slightly toward him. His quick, skillful work made her writhe and sigh his name, trembling.

            Bane stood, having discarded the bar of soap, his hand remaining between her legs to ensure the flames remained ignited. Talia reached for his penis, which wept in anticipation. Her firm, sliding grip fired him even more. The water from the shower seemed to roar like the cataract back in his Gotham sewer lair, drowning out the rest of the world, everything but her hungry cries for him. One of her arms and a leg wrapped around him, as if she wanted to climb him, to put him below her so he could find what they both wanted him to find. The need was now urgent, imperative. He squeezed her buttocks, lifted them, and with a hop she had both legs around his waist. Her hand guided him to her, rubbed his engorged head against her swollen opening. With another growl, he pushed toward the rear of the shower, pinning her against the warm tile wall as she kissed him in a wild flurry, her hands holding his head, as if afraid he would try to escape her lips.

            He thrust up into her. She cried out, her head thrown back. His mouth plunged to her neck, kissing and biting as he thrust again and again, her breasts bouncing against his heaving chest. Her heels dug into him, like a rider urging a horse faster. Their mingled noises echoed in the confined space, rising above the fall of water. Her fingernails sank into the flesh of his back. The pricks brought his thrusts stronger, increasing her outcries almost to the threshold of pain. But he kept going. She had come here against his wishes. Surely she had expected to be punished. So when moments later Talia shrilled in a climax of both pain and pleasure and shuddered in his arms like one possessed, he continued his thrusts and reveled in her capitulating moans. When his own release came, the sudden limpness of her body and the draining of his energy finally loosened his hold enough for her to catch her breath.

            Slowly, with little strength left in his legs, he shifted his weight, still bearing hers, to a teak bench along one wall. There he slumped, Talia in his arms, their bodies no longer coupled, but their arms still holding one another close.

            Finally able to lift her head from his shoulder, Talia tenderly touched his cheek.

            “When I look at your face,” she said near a whisper, barely heard over the neglected shower, “I don’t see these.” She caressed his scars. “I see the beautiful young man from the pit. The one who loved me and Mama and kept us safe. That’s what I’ll always see. Please don’t hide him from me. Not always.”

            Bane put his hand over hers. With all his heart, he wanted to believe her. And when she kissed his torn lips, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to do just that, even if only for a fleeting moment.


	11. Chapter 11

            Talia watched Barsad glide through the water with his easy side stroke, moving the length of the pool as efficiently as a seal. With his back to her, he could not see her enter the otherwise empty room. She strolled toward the near side of the Olympic-size indoor swimming pool and waited for him to turn for his lap back. She had been passing by, on her way to the gym down the hallway, and decided to take advantage of him being alone.

            Barsad caught sight of her as he made his turn. “I see someone finally decided to get out of bed,” he teased, his words echoing.

            Talia tried not to blush as he swam toward her, the water unable to drown his boyish grin. As she watched his effortless movements, she admired his lithe body and considered how very different it was from Bane’s. In an unexpected flash, she saw herself in bed with him. The image made her uncomfortable, though it was not the first time. She was usually not ashamed of such thoughts; after all, she was a woman, and any woman—attached or otherwise—often looked upon an attractive man and had such wandering thoughts, just as men had the same. Yet considering her past two nights with Bane, she felt slightly disgusted with her lapse.

            When Barsad stopped near her, he folded his arms on the cement edging and bobbed there with his lopsided, mischievous grin.

            Talia tsked with a false air of insult. “Why are men so juvenile when it comes to sex, Barsad? You act as if Bane and I just lost our virginity.”

            Barsad laughed. “Well, it’s been a long time for Bane, so he’s just as good as a virgin, no doubt.”

            “Hardly.” She allowed a satisfied smirk.

            “He still snoring away in bed?”

            “No. As usual, he was up before me. He’s in the gym. That’s where I’m headed, too.”

            “You? Glad to hear it. Maybe I’ll come join you two after a few more laps. Unlike you, I got a full night’s rest, though your grandmother had other plans for me.”

            Talia’s mouth dropped open in shock.

            “Oh, no,” Barsad quickly said. “I didn’t mean that. Shit, no.” He laughed. “I’m talking about Sanjana.”

            “Sanjana?”

            “Yeah, Maysam ordered her to come to my room last night.” He winked. “You didn’t know your grandmother was a pimp, did you?”

            “What are talking about?”

            “I just told you. Maysam sent Sanjana to fuck me.”

            Talia was speechless for a moment, blinking as if dazzled by bright lights. “Is that what Sanjana said?”

            “Well, not in such crass terms but yeah.”

            “You believed her?”

            “Believed her? Trust me, she was quite believable, and Maysam confirmed it when I talked to her this morning.”

            Talia stared at the glistening blue water behind Barsad. “She talked about you and Sanjana being attracted to each other, but she never said anything about doing _that_.”

            “Are you surprised?”

            “In some ways, yes; in others, no. You know _Jiddah_. She’s determined we’re all going to be happy.” She searched Barsad’s gaze. “And were you?” One corner of her mouth raised.

            “C’mon, Talia. I’m as horny as the next guy, but gimme some credit. The girl’s had a rough go. I couldn’t take advantage of her.”

            “She didn’t want to sleep with you?”

            “I doubt she wants to sleep with anyone. She was raped not long ago. That’s how she ended up here.”

            The word rape sent an age-old shiver through Talia. Because of her mother’s murder, merely hearing the word brought back pain and the echoes of her mother’s screams. Instantly Talia felt sympathy for Sanjana and anger toward her grandmother.

            “ _Jiddah_ knows about the rape?”

            “Of course. She and Amir know everything about the girl. Sanjana wouldn’t be allowed on the grounds if they didn’t.” Barsad frowned. “Don’t be pissed at Maysam, Talia. She comes from a different world than we do. She was just thinking about me.”

            “I know, but I still wish she hadn’t put the girl through that. Was she angry when you rejected Sanjana?”

            “Rejected is kind of a strong word.” A hint of his grin resurfaced, freeing a drop of water from the early growth of beard on his chin. “I didn’t want Maysam to get suspicious, so I had Sanjana stay in my room for a while…talking.”

            “So she told you about the rape?”

            “No, she just hinted at something shameful. Maysam filled in the details.”

            “But Sanjana is attracted to you. _Jiddah_ ’s rarely wrong on such things.”

            “Of course she’s right. I mean, c’mon, I _am_ irresistible to the ladies, after all. Well, except to you. You’re smarter than the rest.”

            They both laughed.

            “Actually,” Talia said, “I came here to talk to you about something other than how you spent your night, but I’m glad to hear it was at least interesting for you.” She sobered. “You’ve worked just as hard as the rest of us these past months. You deserve some enjoyment. Maybe Sanjana will eventually change her mind.”

            “I doubt we’ll be here long enough for that,” he said in a wistful tone before hoisting himself up to sit on the side of the pool, careful not to get Talia wet. “What did you wanna talk about?”

            “Bane and the League, about my abdication.”

            “Oh, Jesus, Talia. I knew you’d try to drag me into the middle of this. Why don’t I just jump back into the pool so you can drown me now?”

            “You can influence him. He listens to you more than to anyone else, even me.”

            “I doubt that.”

            “You know it’s true. How many times over the years have I gone to you first to propose something because I knew coming from you Bane would listen to the idea more than if it came from me? With me, Bane has too much emotional attachment. With you, there is the level of two professional soldiers, two men who fought side by side on foreign battlefields. That’s a bond I don’t have with him.”

            “Maybe so, but I still don’t wanna be in the middle of this particular fight.”

            “Don’t you agree that he would be a perfect successor?”

            “Of course he would, but I’m not gonna convince him of that, and neither are you. You know how stubborn he is, how much pride in you he has. Besides, you might feel different about all of this once you’re feeling more like yourself.”

            “If I do, which I doubt, then I could always resume my role. Tell Bane that.”

            “He’ll think you’re trying to trick him. He won’t go for it, Talia.”

            “You must convince him to.”

            Barsad shook his head.

            “Must I make this a direct order?” she challenged.

            He scowled at her. “You would.”

            “If I must.”

            “It’s a waste of time. He won’t do it.”

            “We must try to change his mind.”

            “We? Lemme guess, you have Maysam in on this, too.”

            “Yes because she wants what I want.”

            “If Maysam got what she really wants, we would all be out of the League, living some fairy tale life happily ever after.”

            “She isn’t that naïve, and you know it.”

            Barsad sighed and stared at the water for a time before repeating, “He won’t do it.”

            Talia took a firm grip on his arm, her gaze hardening. “You will tell him he should. You will convince him that it is the best thing for me. Leave the importance to himself out of it; he won’t care about any of that.”

            “So this is my new mission?” he asked wryly.

            “You could call it that, if it will help you do what I ask.”

            Embittered by his position, Barsad could not keep himself from saying, “Is this why you’re fucking him?”

            She retracted her hand as if he had burned her flesh. “Of course not. How dare you?”

            “You know damn well how I dare. You’ve hurt him, Talia, deeply.”

            “And he has hurt me.”

            “Only because he was protecting you, as always. There’s a difference.”

            “I don’t agree. Pain is pain, John.”

            “Don’t toy with him, Talia.”

            “I’m not.”

            “If you were, would you even know it? You became quite the Mata Hari in Gotham. The lines may have blurred.”

            She nearly slapped his face for such insolence but stood instead. “I thought you knew me better than that, Barsad.”

            “No one knows you, not even you right now. That’s why you shouldn’t be making big decisions. Let it wait.”

            “I need a resolution. I need to put my failures behind me.”

            “Jesus.” He shook his head and slipped back into the pool.

            “You will do what I asked you?”

            “What you ordered.”

            Talia inclined her head.

            He spat out water. “Like you said, I’m a soldier; I follow orders.”

#

            A month later, _Al Thi’b_ struck again. As the League’s imbedded operative had forewarned, the airline pilots under the terrorist’s control took down jetliners full of passengers. One flew into the Willis Tower in Chicago, killing hundreds. The other crashed into the U.S. Capitol building, demolishing half of the House of Representatives. Though Congress had not been in session, many people in the building and on the grounds had been killed as well as all aboard the plane.

            Bane watched the coverage on television as well as received updates from Finn Donnell. Again they discussed with Talia whether or not the League should step in. The League’s main objective was restoring and maintaining balance in the world, and though the League looked upon America as corrupt and in need of purging itself, _Al Thi’b’s_ reign of terror throughout the globe was contributing to the imbalance of the world’s economy. Those on the lower rungs of society always felt such imbalance most acutely, those who could not protect themselves.

            During their discussions, Talia allowed Bane to carry much of the conversation. When he pressed her for a decision, she was hesitant, always throwing out questions and concerns, stalling, trying her best to have him make the ultimate decision. Bane, however, refused to take the bait. Finn seemed bewildered by this unusual waffling, but when he privately pressed Bane for the reason behind it, Bane simply told him that he contributed Talia’s indecisiveness to her continuing mental recovery.

            “Why don’t you tell Finn the truth?” Barsad asked him one day in the gym after a sparring session.

            “The truth?” With a towel, Bane mopped the perspiration from around his mask.

            “Talia’s recovered enough to make these decisions. You know it; you’re the reason for it. You’re just covering for her. And she’s stalling so you get frustrated enough to take the reins and do what she won’t. You think she still can’t command. I disagree.”

            “She has indeed progressed far in this past month, brother, but she is still not strong, neither emotionally nor physically.”

            “Don’t you think you’ve coddled her long enough?”

            Bane bristled. “Coddled? You know what she’s gone through, Barsad. We can’t rush her.”

            “Is that what you told Finn?”

            “More or less.”

            “But you’ve yet to tell him about her wanting to abdicate.”

            “Of course, because it’s not going to happen.”

            “Why hasn’t she told him?”

            “Because she first wants my agreement to take her place.” Bane scowled at his scruffy lieutenant. “I thought you were under Talia’s orders to convince me to obey her in this?”

            “I am. And I’ve tried, haven’t I? You know I don’t think it’s a bad idea. You’re born for the job, and you’ve been basically doing it now for months. I think our brothers, and me, would prefer to know if Talia is really still in charge or if you are permanently.”

            “Talia is and always will be the Demon Head. Our brothers know that.”

            “Her heart’s not in it, Bane.”

            “Not right now, no.”

            “So how long are you gonna let her lounge around here as she tries to wait you out?”

            Bane lifted an eyebrow. “Getting bored, are you, brother? I would think your evening tête-à-têtes with Sanjana were keeping you entertained. You’ve always enjoyed a challenge and a lively pursuit. Soon enough she will be in your bed, won over by your wit and charm, if not your ability to harry someone to death.”

            “Don’t change the subject. You sound like Maysam, for God’s sake. I’m saying it just doesn’t feel right to be here so long. The regional commanders all know something else is going on.”

            “They have said this to you?”

            “In so many words, yeah.”

            “And your response?”

            “I tell ’em I go where you go, and right now you’re here, and if they want more of an answer, they’ll need to talk to you or Talia. And you know they won’t do that…yet.”

            Bane nodded in satisfaction. Barsad could be a pain in the ass, but he was loyal through and through, a good soldier.

            “We must be patient with Talia a while longer, brother. I will continue encouraging her to return to her duties. I trust you will do the same.”

            “I’m playing both ends in this, as usual,” Barsad grumbled. “I never like it, damn it.”

            “Understandably. But it is necessary.”

            Barsad blew a soft scoff. “Listen, Bane, you know I don’t begrudge you time in the sack with Talia—”

            “Be careful, brother,” Bane growled.

            “I’m speaking as your second in command, and as that I’m concerned with the League’s business. You say Talia needs more time. Fine, she stays here with Maysam. You and I should get back to business.”

            “You said yourself that I am the reason for Talia’s recent improvements. If I leave her now, who is to say she will not relapse? I can’t take that chance. And, while I trust our brothers to protect her, I feel it is my personal duty at this moment to see to her safety, with the whole world hunting for her. She has never before been in such grave danger.”

            Barsad looked away, shaking his head and gulping down several swallows from his water bottle. He could tell he was wasting his time. Though he had a duty to offer counsel to his commander, he had reached his end for today. Beating his head against the wall of Bane’s stubbornness and blindness when it came to Talia would only give him a headache, so he excused himself and left the gym.

#

            “Sir, you should take this,” the deep voice of Mohammad Adeyemi halted Bane on the threshold of the palace doors. Adeyemi held out a faded blue _shemagh_ taken from around his own neck.

            Being addressed as “sir” by the Nigerian always inwardly amused Bane, for Yemi was perhaps fifteen years older than he. Bane, however, could not be certain of the age difference because he had lost track of his own birth year once his mother had died.

            “It’s a moonless night, Yemi,” Bane protested.

            “All the same, sir. Talia’s orders.”

            Bane’s lips twisted wryly behind the mask. So his little minx _was_ still giving orders, at least when it suited her. Reluctantly he took the cloth and wound it about his head, concealing the mask.

            “Who is to say I won’t remove it once I’m out of your sight, Yemi?”

            “Because you won’t be. You know how this works, sir. You walk the grounds at night, I come with you.”

            “Tonight can be different. You may remain here.”

            “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” the Nigerian said. “Talia’s orders.”

            “And if I were in command instead of Talia, would you remain here?”

            “I would hope you wouldn’t insist upon such a thing, sir, but of course I would obey. It would, however, also be my duty to report your isolation to Barsad.”

            Bane breathed an irritated sigh and shook his head before lumbering down the palace steps and heading for the immense garden between here and the guest house where he used to reside. Yemi followed but, as always during Bane’s nightly strolls, he kept enough distance to allow his commander privacy.

            Besides Barsad, Yemi was Bane’s most trusted soldier. The two had met in the pit prison where they had developed a mutual respect for one another because of their fighting capabilities as well as their integrity, a rare quality in a place where all others except a handful lacked such virtue. When Talia had been an infant, Yemi had helped Bane save her from another prisoner. The inmate who had snatched her from Bane’s arms had planned to us her as leverage to gain monetary favor from Melisande’s wealthy family. Little had the man known that Siddig would have done no favors of any kind and instead would have killed his granddaughter right then and there if he had learned of her existence. For the Nigerian’s bravery that day, he had been rewarded with freedom when Rā’s al Ghūl had liberated Bane and purged the prison. Years later, in Africa, Bane and Yemi had been reunited and eventually Yemi had been initiated into the League. During the Gotham operation, he had been assigned to Talia’s personal security and served in that capacity still, something that gave Bane great comfort.

            The scent of the palace garden’s vast array of flowers filled Bane’s senses, so powerful even the dampening of his medicinal vapor could not defeat the assault. He deeply breathed it in, savored it, for there had been more foul-smelling places in his life than ones such as this. He visited this beautiful, peaceful oasis whenever he walked at night, often unable to sleep because of physical discomfort or because of heavy matters of the League. He also considered the garden sacred, for Melisande had fondly spoken of it whenever she discussed her family home. Her favorite spot had been a stone bench in a rose garden where a small fountain flowed. She often went there to escape her father’s oppression, taking a book to read. Bane headed there now.

            Stepping through the arbor into the rose garden, he stopped in his tracks. His heartbeat faltered. A woman sat there, her face concealed in the same way as his from the weak light of the garden’s single flambeau. For a moment he had the insane thought that it was Melisande or at least her ghost, but then the woman spoke in Talia’s voice.

            “Bane, I thought you were going to bed.”

            His heart began to beat again as he crossed the space. “And I thought you were with your grandmother.”

            “I could see she was tired, so I told her to go to bed; I assured her I would entertain myself.”

            “You are not alone, of course.”

            She shrugged and avoided his gaze.

            “Talia,” he scolded. “You aren’t to leave the palace without a guard. You know that.”

            “Yemi was going to accompany me, but I ordered him to remain at his post. I’m sick of being followed around by a pack of guards.”

            “Yemi said nothing to me about you being out here alone.”

            “I told him not to.”

            “Yet you saw fit to ensure he would accompany me like a pilot fish.”

            “Of course.” She refused to wither from his disapproving glance. “But I thought you were inside.”

            “May I sit with you?”

            “Always the gentleman. You don’t need to ask.”

            “A man should never assume to know what a woman will allow.”

            Talia chuckled and patted the stone bench, which allowed little space between them even if they wanted it.

            “You were quiet at dinner,” Talia probed.

            Bane studied the hypnotic fall of the water in the fountain several feet in front of them, felt its moisture on his skin. Its music nearly drowned out the noises of nighttime insects.

            “So was Barsad,” she continued when she saw he would not respond. “So I’m assuming you two had a disagreement.”

            Bane always tried his best to avoid sharing with Talia any conversations he had with Barsad that pertained to her because he wanted no animosity between the two, neither personally nor professionally. She and Barsad often had differing opinions, and while Bane appreciated the diversity he hoped it never drove a lasting wedge between Talia and Barsad. Tonight, however, he found the need—a weakness, perhaps—to share his frustrations with her.

            “Barsad believes I am being selfish.”

            “Selfish? In what way?”

            “Remaining here with you for so long. He feels I am neglecting my duties with the League.”

            “You aren’t. You communicate with the regional commanders every day.”

            “I am not in the field.”

            “How can you be in the field right now? The entire world is looking for you.”

            “The world seems distracted by _Al Thi’b_. Perhaps this would indeed be a good time for me to resume more active duties.”

            Talia threaded her arm through his, drew them tight against one another. She clasped his hand, studied his face in earnest. What did he see in her eyes? Fear? No, he would not believe that, even though her expression reminded him of those days in the pit after her mother’s death, when she clung to him, afraid he would leave her.

            “Stay,” Talia murmured, resting her head against his bicep. “Just a little longer. I will speak with Barsad.”

            “You most certainly will not. I shouldn’t have spoken of our discussion.”

            “What did you say to him?”

            “That you need more time, of course.”

            “I don’t want this to be a problem between you two, _habibi_.”

            “It won’t be.” Bane slipped his arm around her, sighed away his tension, watched the calming waters. Eager to change the subject, he said, “When I saw you sitting here just now, I thought of your mother.”

            “I always think of her when I come here. That’s why I come. Sometimes I feel her presence.”

            “As do I. Perhaps she is with us now.”

            Talia squeezed his hand. “She would be happy to see you’re still here with me, after all these years, keeping your promise still.”

            “I am not here just because of that promise, _habibati_. I am here because there is nowhere else I want to be except with the one I love. I cannot tell you how precious our time here has been for me. It is a gift. Perhaps Barsad is right, and I am being selfish. But I feel it is also the right thing to do. I believe your mother would agree.”

            “Of course she would, and I love you for it. I know how close you and Barsad are, but no matter how close your bond, he can never truly understand _our_ bond. No one can.”

            “This is true. He knows it, and I think in some ways it frustrates him. He means well.”

            “Yes, but perhaps he’s a bit jealous.” She turned her face up to him, a twinkle in her eye. “He had you all to himself for so many years while I was in Gotham.”

            Bane chuckled. “No, my pet, jealousy isn’t in it. He is restless. It’s not in our American friend’s nature to remain idle for so long. Remember, that is why he was leaving your grandmother’s employ when I first met him.”

            “Yes, there was that, but he also left to protect _Jiddah_. They may have broken off their affair long before then, but they still cared for each other, and that was dangerous. _Jiddah_ wasn’t afraid, but Barsad was afraid for her.” She gently rubbed his hand. “How long do you think before he sleeps with Sanjana? Perhaps that will ease his wanderlust.”

            “No doubt it will help. I cannot hazard a guess, however, as to their union. I don’t know how damaged the girl is.”

            “How terrible for her.” Talia shuddered.

            “Indeed. I have told Barsad that he is but to say the word and I will have Hisham’s nephew pay quite thoroughly for his crime.”

            “As he should.”

            Bane nodded, caressed her petal-soft hand, wished he could kiss her fingers. His thoughts drifted back to that first morning in the shower when he had removed his mask for her. Since then, he had honored her request to see his face more often when they made love. To be able to feel her touch against his cheeks, her lips against his, her tongue… They were sensations he was powerless to fully deny any longer. He had feared such exposure would compound her guilt over her part in his injuries, but the opposite seemed to be happening—each time he acquiesced and especially when he removed the mask without her prompting, she seemed more empowered, more whole, more like the Talia from the pit who had no guilt. As she had once felt she had imprisoned him with his injuries, she now felt as if she were liberating him.

            “Sometimes,” Talia said, “I wish Barsad and _Jiddah_ would sleep together, but of course when I suggest it, _Jiddah_ acts all scandalized and repulsed for Barsad because of her age.”

            “Yes, I’ve thought of those two myself. And your grandmother is being foolish—many older women have fulfilling sex lives. I have no doubts she wouldn’t disappoint Deadshot.” He chuckled. “No doubt she can still give him a run for his money, as they say.”

            They both quietly laughed.

            “If Sanjana does sleep with him,” Talia said, “ _Jiddah_ will probably want all the juicy details, but she’d never ask.”

            “No, that wouldn’t be your grandmother. She is a proud woman, like her granddaughter.” He smiled at Talia, and she squeezed his hand again.

            “Maybe,” her look grew sultry, “this stubborn woman is ready for bed after all.”

            He grinned behind the mask. “I was thinking the same, my dear. But first, let us lead Yemi on a merry chase through the grounds.”

            Talia laughed at his playfulness, and together they slipped soundlessly away into the darkness.


	12. Chapter 12

            Sanjana hurried down the long hallway as quickly as her _lehenga choli_ and propriety allowed. Only the scuff of her feet across the carpet disturbed the morning silence of the residence. Normally she went to Barsad’s room later in the morning; he liked to sleep in. But as she had headed to her mistress’s room at the appointed time, Hisham had stepped out of Bane’s suite to intercept her and instruct her to awaken Barsad with all haste and direct him to Bane’s office.

            She always looked forward to seeing Barsad, but the urgency behind Hisham’s orders made her worry that Bane had something unpleasant to say to his lieutenant. Though Bane had been nothing but polite to her over these past weeks, she still instinctively feared him, not just because of his muscle-bound size but because of his overall inherent menace—the mechanical-sounding voice, the mask that reminded her of a tarantula, the piercing eyes that seemed to read what was in her very soul, making her feel ashamed and vulnerable. How could Talia, Barsad, and Maysam feel so much affection for such an intimidating figure? No wonder Gotham had trembled beneath his rule. She admired Barsad for his fearlessness around his commander and hoped that one day she would be as brave.

            Whenever she asked about Bane and what influenced him to lead this kind of life, Barsad was always evasive, simply saying that Bane’s early life had been nothing short of hellish at best. Such a revelation deepened her curiosity and unexpectedly stirred her sympathy. While her own life thus far had been anything but pleasant, she had never considered it hellish. What had happened to Bane and why did he wear that hideous mask? During the siege of Gotham many theories had arisen, but when she asked Barsad about them, he reminded her that he would never reveal anything about his commander that he had not received permission to divulge.

            She smiled when she thought of Barsad and their nightly talks. She enjoyed his company immensely. He made her laugh with his quick wit and dry humor. Also, he was teaching her English, a process that often made both of them laugh as she struggled to pronounce words.

            At first she had expected him to eventually force himself on her, that his friendship was merely a ploy, but as the days and weeks slipped by she felt more at ease and was almost ready to trust him. Sometimes, though, she told herself she was being a fool for consorting with an infamous terrorist, a man who served someone the world viewed as demonic and inhuman. Yet, sitting in Barsad’s room or on his veranda, looking into his amazingly blue eyes and seeing his broad smile, Sanjana found it difficult to believe this was the same soldier she had seen standing next to Bane on the portico of Gotham City Hall.

            Once she reached Barsad’s door, she hesitated before knocking. She hated to disturb his sleep; he was not, as he had warned her, a morning person, not until after his coffee, which she brought to him every morning. Hisham’s urgency, however, made her rap upon the door.

            “Mr. Barsad, good morning,” she said in English. “Are you awake?”

            No response. She frowned and pressed her ear to the door, listening for snores or any sound that would indicate his status. Again she knocked. Still nothing. Perhaps he was in the shower or smoking on his veranda.

            “Mr. Barsad,” she tried a bit louder with a glance up and down the hall, not wanting Maysam to hear her.

            After waiting a moment longer, she sighed in frustration and opened the door just enough to call to him again. Why did he not answer? She stuck her head in a bit farther in order to see his bed through the dimness. The blankets were scrambled and lumpy, but Sanjana could not tell if he were under them or not. The bathroom was dark. One of the veranda doors stood open, the warm morning breeze trickling inward.

            Confident Barsad was indeed out smoking, Sanjana entered the room, closing the door behind her. To reach the veranda, she had to pass the bed, and just as she drew next to it, the blankets flew back and in one blinding movement Barsad had reared up in bed, a pistol pointed at her. Sanjana gasped and froze.

            “Jesus, Sanjana, what the hell are you doing? I could’ve shot you.”

            “I—I’m sorry,” she said in Hindi. “I thought you were on the veranda.”

            Barsad set the Glock on one of his pillows and slumped to one elbow. “It’s too early.”

            “I know. I’m sorry.” Her voice trembled, gaze glued to the gun. “Hisham sent me to fetch you.”

            Barsad noticed how the weapon unnerved her, so he slipped it beneath his pillow again. “Hisham?”

            “Yes. Mr. Bane needs to see you right away.”

            At this, Barsad untangled himself from the blankets and swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. Sanjana realized he wore only dark gray boxers. She did her best to avert her eyes. His movements wafted his scent to her, and now she knew what a woman would smell after sleeping with him.

            “Did he say why he wants to see me?”

            “No. Just that I should fetch you immediately.”

            “OK. Thanks.” He stood. “Would you hand me that shirt on the chair behind you?”

            For a moment she had forgotten how to move. Did he not realize he was standing in front of her with hardly any clothes on? How oblivious Americans were.

            “Sanjana? You OK? I’m sorry about the gun. It’s instinct.”

            She nodded, trying not to look at his hair sticking up in every direction like a precocious little boy’s. Mechanically she handed him his t-shirt.

            Barsad dragged it over his head then went to the foot of the bed where he had left his jeans on a low, ancient chest. Realizing himself, he hurried to pull them on.

            “Sorry,” he muttered. “Not very gentlemanly of me, huh?”

            “No, it is my fault. I did not mean to intrude like this.”

            Barsad offered a lopsided grin to comfort her. “Don’t worry about it. You’re doing your job. Where is Bane?”

            “In his office.”

            “Would you bring me some coffee there?”

            “Right away.”

            “Thanks, Sanjana.” For a moment he stood with his eyes upon her as he buttoned his jeans. “You’re quite a sight in the morning, you know.”

            She blushed and looked away.

            “Afraid I’m just the opposite,” he laughed. “Well, off I go. Coffee, eh?”

            “Yes.”

            Watching him rush from the room, Sanjana mentally replayed his compliment and smiled to herself.

#

            “It appears I roused you from your beauty rest, brother,” Bane said as Barsad sat on the opposite side of what was once Siddig’s desk, a familiar room to Barsad from his years of service here.

            “Yeah, but at least I had a beautiful alarm clock.”

            “I had no idea you had such feelings for Hisham,” Bane quipped.

            Barsad chuckled. “He sent Sanjana.”

            “A wise move on Hisham’s part. He knew what would get you up.”

            “Ha, ha, brother. Very funny.”

            “And accurate. But enough levity for now. I just got off the phone with Finn. He relayed some puzzling information.”

            “What’s that?”

            “The CIA has released Khasanov from their black site in Morocco.”

            “What? Why the hell would they do that? He’s their only link to us.”

            Vlad Khasanov had been grievously wounded during the final day of fighting in Gotham, unknowingly left behind by his evacuating brethren, the only League member captured by the authorities. The Americans had worked feverishly to save his life so he could be interrogated. Even before the siege of Gotham, his face was well-known by both Interpol and the CIA for his rumored association with the League of Shadows. During his captivity, Khasanov’s attempts to kill himself to protect his organization had been thwarted each time.

            Bane had little fear that Khasanov would break under any method of torture. He had fully expected the man to die in custody, and certainly he had never expected Khasanov to be freed.

            “There can be only one reason for his release,” Bane said.

            “They couldn’t have turned him.”

            “Doubtful. But they know he will be able to contact us, and by doing so confirm that we did indeed survive.”

            “Vlad’s not going to allow himself to be their puppet.”

            “Agreed. But he may have a reason for being a messenger. Either that or he is playing them. However, if it were the latter, I think the Americans would have been able to sniff that out and never would have let him go. No, I expect we will be hearing from Vlad very soon.”

            “He’d never contact us directly. He wouldn’t even know how. Only our regional commanders know where we are.”

            “Yes, and Vlad will know that.”

            “Should we have him eliminated?”

            “We may have to. But at this point I prefer to let this play out a bit. Let us find out what he has learned while a guest of the Americans, and let us hear the reason for his liberation.”

            “Have you told Talia?”

            “Our sister is still asleep. I wanted to speak to you first. Ah, Sanjana, come in.”

            “Good morning, sir,” Sanjana said from the threshold where she stood with a tray.

            “I see you have read your charge’s mind and brought his coffee. By all means, come pour Barsad a cup so his eyes open a little wider. It’s the least I can allow after so rudely interrupting his decidedly lonely sleep.”

            Barsad shot him a look of irritation.

            “See how he glares at me,” Bane said as Sanjana set the tray on one corner of the desk. “He is a beastly thing before his first cup, is he not? That and one of his vile cigarettes afterwards will return his humanity.”

            Sanjana struggled to hide her amusement, always surprised whenever Bane said something witty. It pleased her to witness his friendship with Barsad. Who would have thought two such ruthless men could show brotherly affection? “Can I get you anything, sir?”

            “No, thank you, Sanjana. Hisham has already seen to my needs. He’s used to my early morning prowls.”

            She poured some of the steaming brew and handed the cup to Barsad, who thanked her.

            “Shall I make your bed, Mr. Barsad, or will you be returning to it when you are finished here?”

            “No, I’m wide awake now, thanks to the two of you. Go ahead and make it up.”

            “Very well. Good day, Mr. Bane.”

            “The same to you, Sanjana. And please assure your mistress that Talia and I will be joining her for breakfast.”

            “I will, sir. She will be very pleased to hear that.”

            Bane watched her go and remained silent until she was well out of hearing. Then he gave Barsad a taunting look.

            “Enjoying this, are you?” Barsad asked.

            “Yes. In case you’ve forgotten, brother, over the years I have been celibate many long months while you whored about. Now the shoe is on the other foot, and it does indeed amuse me.”

            “Why don’t we get back to the matter at hand—Khasanov?”

            “Of course. As I was saying, I wanted your opinion of the situation before discussing it with Talia. Do you agree that we should allow him to remain in play until we discover why he was released?”

            “I’d feel better if we eliminated him, but I can see your point.”

            “Then we are agreed upon the course of action?”

            “For now.”

            “Very well.”

            “But why bother talking to Talia? She’s just going to defer to you again.”

            “I won’t allow it. I will insist upon her decisiveness.”

            With a skeptical sidelong glance, Barsad sipped his coffee.

            “You will have a small team intercept Khasanov,” Bane instructed, “and take him to one of our safe havens in Dagestan. Have him debriefed and evaluated.”

            After further discussion, Barsad finished his coffee and left the suite to carry out his orders. Bane returned to the bedroom.

            Talia still slept, so Bane made no sound as he approached the bed. She lay on her side, looking peaceful and stunning. Without make-up, she appeared so very young, reminding him of her teenage years and her time at university. Her mother’s old blanket was all that covered her nakedness. The fabric was getting threadbare after all these years, the earthy colors faded, but it was all they had left of Melisande. Originally the blanket had been a gift from her husband, used to swaddle Talia after her birth and keep her warm during the pit prison’s brutal nights. Following Melisande’s death, it had given them much comfort. After Bane’s rescue, Rā’s al Ghūl had allowed him to keep the blanket…until Bane was excommunicated, then Rā’s reclaimed it. When Rā’s died, Talia returned the blanket to Bane, though he insisted she keep it to remember her mother. She, however, knew how much it had always meant to him and that it soothed him when they were apart.

            Though reluctant to wake her and deprive himself of such a serene sight, Bane sat beside her on the edge of the mattress. The sensation of his weight sinking against her caused her eyelids to flutter and open. He brushed her wild hair back from her face and exchanged a smile with her.

            “Good morning, my love,” he murmured.

            “Good morning.”

            “Hisham is bringing a fresh pot of coffee. I apologize for waking you, but remember we promised your grandmother we would eat breakfast with her.”

            Talia’s sleepy eyes flicked to the clock on the nightstand.

            “And there is a League matter that we must discuss.”

            He relayed the news of Khasanov’s release and his discussion with Barsad as Talia sat up against their mountain of pillows, suddenly awake.

            “Barsad is sending a team now to locate our brother and ascertain the reason for his release.”

            “They’d never release him unless they have an agenda.”

            “Indeed.”

            “You won’t be talking to him yourself, will you? You shouldn’t expose yourself.”

            “For now, I will leave it to our team.”

            Her sigh of relief pleased him, to know she worried about him.

            “Do you agree with my plans?”

            “A part of me agrees with Barsad that we should eliminate Khasanov in case there is a chance he can expose us, but as you said, such measures can still be taken if we deem it necessary after his debrief. You will use our best men to interrogate him.”

            “Of course, _habibati_. They will find out the truth.” He took her hand, smiled to assure her. “Have no fear. I won’t take any chances with him. But he is our brother. We must show him a sufficient amount of respect for what he has endured these many months. The very fact that he is alive is a testament to his value.”

            She frowned and kissed his hand. “I hope you’re right.”

#

            The first words from Khasanov when the League reacquired him were, “I must speak with Bane.” As directed, his brothers refused to confirm that Bane lived. During two days of questioning, Khasanov told them extensively about his time as a prisoner, but always he asked to talk directly with Bane, refusing to believe anything except that his commander lived. When he was asked why he needed to speak with Bane, he told them again and again of the reason for his release—he was a messenger with important information for Bane, information for his ears only.

            “I don’t like it,” Barsad said after their latest update from Dagestan. “If he’s demanding a face-to-face, it could be to assassinate you.”

            “Do you have such little faith in our brother?” Bane asked.

            “He’s gone through months of hell, Bane. You don’t know if he’s been turned. Our brothers aren’t convinced.”

            “If I met with him, I would be able to tell.”

            “Jesus. You’re not seriously considering that, are you?”

            “You have been wanting us to return to the field, have you not, brother?”

            “Yeah, but not to visit a potential assassin.”

            “We are all assassins, Barsad.”

            “You know what I mean, damn it.”

            Bane considered his agitated lieutenant. “Very well. We will give him a couple more days under our brothers’ care and see if something changes.”

            But Vlad Khasanov refused to deviate from his demands or narrative, even after additional days of scrutiny and isolation in the mountainous border region of southern Dagestan. Bane had to admit he was more and more intrigued by Khasanov’s determination and insistence that his commander would want to hear what he had to say. Khasanov claimed his demand to divulge his message to Bane alone was for Bane’s own safety.

            “I believe it is time for me to get to the bottom of this matter in Dagestan,” Bane said to Talia and Barsad one evening as they relaxed on the suite’s veranda.

            Barsad, standing downwind of Bane, removed a glowing cigarette from his mouth. “What are you suggesting?”

            “I’m _suggesting_ nothing—I’m telling you I am going to Dagestan as soon as it can be arranged.”

            Talia immediately straightened in her cushioned chair, color draining from her face. “No, Bane. You can’t. I won’t allow it.”

            “I will not be gone long.”

            “It’s too risky,” she insisted.

            “My entire life has been a risk, _habibati_ , but still I endure and will continue to do so after I pay a visit to Khasanov. I will remind you of my history with him. He has served me since Chechnya. I saved his life on more than one occasion. He has never faltered or failed us all these years. If anyone could withstand the CIA’s tactics, it is Vlad. I must show him the same loyalty he has shown me.”

            “Bullshit,” Barsad said, whipping the cigarette over the railing and stalking toward Bane. “What could he possibly have to say that we need to hear?”

            “Perhaps he must warn us of something.”

            “You don’t believe that,” Talia said. “The CIA would never have released him unless it served their purpose, not ours. They’re just trying to confirm that we are alive, and if you contact Khasanov, they will have that confirmation.”

            “I will be able to know if Khasanov has been turned or not, I assure you. And if he has, I will eliminate him myself. So you see there is no danger to us. And if our brother wins his life, I will not speak a word to him of either you or Barsad.”

            “Me?” Barsad said. “If you think you’re leaving me behind, you’re batshit crazy.”

            “You will stay with Talia where you are needed most.”

            “She’s safe here with Yemi and the others.”

            “And I will be safe with our brothers in Dagestan. You will obey my orders, brother.”

            Talia interjected, “I won’t allow you to go, Bane.”

            Bane turned to her with darkened gaze, the lover gone, the protector front and center. “And if you get your wish and I become Demon Head, is this the interference I can expect? Am I not currently acting-commander of the League?”

            “You are, but—”

            “Then it is settled—I will leave for Dagestan as soon as possible.”

            Talia stared at Bane, her jaw tight with tension. “Barsad. Leave us.”

            Recognizing the iron determination on Talia’s face, Barsad hesitated a mere moment before stomping from the veranda. Only after they heard the distant closing of the suite door did the staring contest end. Talia’s expression softened slightly, and she reached across the small coffee table between them, her hand open and inviting, but Bane knew better than to touch her right now.

            “Don’t do this, _habibi_. It’s too dangerous. Let Khasanov simmer a bit longer. Perhaps the CIA will grow impatient and show their hand.”

            “Or they will make a move on us while we are distracted by Khasanov’s presence. If we want to know their game, we must get answers from Khasanov. He will give them to me.”

            “What if you’re wrong?”

            “I am not wrong.”

            Talia got up from her chair and knelt between his knees, her hands on his thighs. He refused to show any reaction to her subservient position. “Being together these past weeks…you’ve given me so much strength, _habibi_. But this…I don’t have the strength to let you go right now, especially for something as dangerous as this. Send Barsad first. Let him decide if Khasanov is still loyal to us, and if he is, you can talk to him then.”

            “I won’t ask Barsad to do what is mine to do. It will expose him for nothing. Khasanov will not speak with him. He will maintain his directive. No, I am the one who must go.”

            Talia’s lips pressed together in frustration, and she momentarily looked the length of the veranda, a slight sheen of moisture coming to her eyes.

            Bane’s voice took on a gentler tone when he saw her familiar anxiety. “You have nothing to fear, _habibati_.”

            “I have everything to fear.” Her fingers gripped his thighs. “I can’t lose you, Bane.” She seemed about to say something else but closed her mouth and looked away once more.

            Intrigued by the sudden conflict in her gaze, he leaned forward and took her face in his hands. She closed her eyes.

            “You can’t go,” she whispered. “I won’t let you.”

            He leaned his forehead against hers in their age-old gesture of affection. “In this, you have no choice. You have given me this temporary power, and if you truly mean to give it to me permanently, you must be prepared for many moments like this. You must be strong and fearless.”

            She sank back to sit on the tiling, still not meeting his gaze. He caressed her hair.

            “I will come back to you, my love. I always will. You know that.”

            Talia remained motionless for some time as he stroked her head. Bane waited, knowing she was weighing everything in her mind. He wondered if she would say whatever it was she had stopped herself from saying. His foolish side hoped that she had been about to declare her love for him, the same kind of love he had for her. And if she did, would his resolve crumble? And if not such a declaration, then what had hung there on the tip of her tongue?

            At last she raised her head, the trepidation bundled away now, replaced by resolution. “If you must do this, then I ask one thing, one thing you must promise me.”

            “If I can.”

            “No, you can and you must.”

            “What is it, _habibati_?”

            “You will take Barsad with you.”

            “He should stay with you. He will protect you.”

            “That’s not why you want to leave him here. Be honest with me. You want him here in case something happens to you, in case you don’t come back.”

            “I will come back.”

            “You don’t know that.” She raised a hand to stop him, squeezing her eyes shut. “Promise me you will do this one thing that I ask of you. If you love me, you will.”

            “ _Habibati_ —”

            “Promise me!”

            Bane sighed, slumped back in his seat, watched her eyes open, those large blue pools looking to him for solace as they had since the day she had been born. He frowned and at last said, “As you wish.”


	13. Chapter 13

            Bane’s journey to Dagestan was necessarily nocturnal and circuitous to ensure his movements went undetected. A flight to Turkmenistan was the first leg, the jet landing on a remote airstrip, followed by a helicopter flight to the coast of the Caspian Sea. From there, he and Barsad boarded a small, swift vessel that awaited them for transport across the Caspian to Azerbaijan. Once there, an overland journey, smuggled in a truck, to the northern reaches where they crossed the border on foot into the mountains of Dagestan.

            Snow upon the higher elevations seemed to glow in the darkness above Bane and Barsad as they traveled. Two of their brethren had met them just this side of the border and now escorted them through the narrow, deep-cut valleys northward. The cold world lay silent, the only sound that of their boots on the rocky soil. Bane’s breath blew in clouds through the mask’s grating. After months of recuperation and a sedentary life in Rajasthan, his body was not prepared for such rugged exertion, especially at an altitude of twenty-four hundred meters. Beside him, Barsad struggled equally, though neither spoke of their efforts. Hopefully neither of them would come down with altitude sickness.

            Bane admired the mountains rising on all sides, barren and harsh. Though very different from the Himalayas of his old home after prison, they gave him the same comfort with their jagged, protective shoulders. They prompted fond memories from his training days as well as other memories from Chechnya where this same range of mountains reached. They also reminded him of the Kashmir mountains where he and Barsad had endured their first combat together during the Kargil War. He much preferred this climate to the heat of the desert.

            The small group reached their destination just before sunrise. The pass descended toward the village of Gdym, which lay as a mere blur at the bottom of a valley just large enough to accommodate the homes of less than five hundred souls. The rocky river bed that passed by carried only a trickle of water this time of year. In the spring, thawing mountain snows swelled the river, sending it racing along to give life to the surrounding hills and its people and livestock. There were a few scrubby trees on the nearside border of the town, and it was to a small building close to some of those trees that the group headed.

            A fire dying in a small hearth provided the only light in the house’s main room. Shuddered windows. Very little furniture, looking locally-made and simple. Two of the League’s operatives stood in the center of the room, greeting the arrivals in subdued tones, speaking in Russian. To Bane’s right was what served as both kitchen and dining area, while a short hallway off the main room led to a cramped bathroom and two doors to the bedrooms. One door was closed.

            The man in charge of the operation here was named Ingold, a Canadian whose mother had been born and raised in Dagestan. He briefed Bane on any changes since his last report. Meanwhile, Barsad sank to a saggy couch nearby and accepted a steaming cup of coffee from the other operative. His entire body screamed in protest of his travels, and the higher elevation was already giving him a headache. Besides the coffee and a cigarette, he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

            “Would you like to speak to Khasanov now, sir?” Ingold asked Bane.

            “No,” Bane said quietly, standing close to Ingold. “I will rest a bit and recover from the journey so my head is clear. Do not let him know we are here.”

            “There are two cots in the bedroom on the right, sir, if you and Barsad wish to sleep.”

            Barsad looked hopefully at Bane.

            “Very well,” Bane nodded. “Let us eat first. Then you will wake me in two hours.”

            Barsad was asleep the minute his head hit the meager pillow. Bane lay awake in the windowless room for several minutes, listening to the world inside this building as well as beyond the earthen walls. The village was awakening quickly; distant voices of those sending morning greetings to their neighbors. Everyone here would know everyone. They were paid well to ignore anyone who visited the house at the edge of town. It had been this way for generations, so long in fact that few cared about the place or the men who came and went most often after dark. Bane was confident in his safety. His men regularly patrolled the surrounding countryside for any signs of surveillance from enemies. The villagers appreciated this mysterious vigilance.

            Bane went over the questions he would have for Khasanov, then his thoughts turned to Talia before he drifted to sleep, a smile on his face and an aching in his heart to return to her.

            When Ingold woke him at the appointed time, Barsad stirred as well, attuned to his commander’s movements even in sleep.

            “No need to rouse yourself,” Bane told him. “Sleep, if you wish.”

            “Aren’t you gonna talk to Khasanov?”

            “Yes.”

            “Now?”

            “Yes.”

            “Then I’m not sleeping.” Barsad reached for his rifle leaning nearby against the wall.

            “I will speak with Vlad alone.”

            “Like hell you will. You don’t know what’s gonna happen in there.”

            “I do.”

            Ingold, standing now near the closed door, said to Barsad, “Khasanov is restrained.”

            “You see, brother,” Bane gave Barsad a sardonic smile, “nothing to fear.”

            “Why the hell don’t you want me in there?”

            “Because Vlad will soon know I am alive, but there is no need for him to know you also survived Gotham.”

            “I’m not worried about that.”

            “But I am, and that is enough.”

            Barsad had gotten to his feet. His head pounded even worse now, and the food he had eaten before retiring did not sit well in his stomach, making him even more irascible. “Damn it, Bane—”

            “You may fondle your gun just outside Vlad’s room, if it will make you feel better, brother. But you will remain out of sight. That is an order.”

            “Then why the hell am I here?”

            “Because I promised our sister that you could accompany me. Nothing, however, was said about your position during the interview. Are we clear?”

            Barsad scowled at Ingold, who remained impassive, then at Bane before mumbling profanities.

            When Bane entered the room across the hall, he found Vlad Khasanov seated in a wooden chair at a tiny table, hands bound behind his back. The single window was shuttered but allowed a small amount of light to brighten the room. Khasanov’s shaggy head lifted as if he had been dozing. He wore an unfamiliar black patch over his right eye. Seeing Bane, Khasanov’s other eye—narrow and gray—widened in disbelief, his backbone stiffening, all fatigue instantly gone from his broad, stubble-shadowed face. Khasanov had never been one to reveal his emotions, so this overt display of relief and shock surprised Bane and told him much. The battered man started to stand in deference.

            “You may remain seated,” Bane said.

            Ingold shut the door and stood behind Bane with a pistol in hand.

            “You are alive,” Khasanov said hoarsely.

            “Indeed, brother. And I am pleased to make the same observation of you. Your survival is remarkable and a testament to your bravery.”

            The sight of tears in Khasanov’s eye surprised Bane. “Thank you, sir,” he said near a whisper.

            Khasanov’s eye patch unexpectedly reminded Bane of someone from his past, someone who had meant much to him and Talia—a Bhutanese servant named Akar, who had lived with them at the League’s base in the Himalayas, and had died there as well, thanks to Bruce Wayne. Akar, too, had been missing an eye. The connection made Bane sympathetic to Khasanov, though he knew he should not allow such sentiment here.

            “Brother,” Bane addressed Ingold without turning away from Khasanov. “Remove his bindings.”

            Ingold hesitated. “Are you sure, sir?”

            “Am I ever unsure of my orders?” Bane growled, studying Khasanov for signs of deceit.

            “No, sir. But—”

            “Must I do it myself?”

            “Of course not, sir.”

            Ingold gave Bane his pistol in order to keep it out of Khasanov’s reach while he freed the Chechen’s hands. In a show of fidelity, Khasanov placed his hands in plain sight on the table. Two fingers on his left hand and two on his right were missing except for ugly, ragged stumps.

            When Ingold retrieved his weapon, Bane said, “You may leave us, brother,” still never looking away from Khasanov who neither shrank nor flinched from his scrutiny.

            “Sir?”

            “It appears your hearing has deteriorated, Ingold, since last I saw you.”

            The man frowned but was wise enough to obey, no matter how reluctantly. “I will be just outside,” he said, more to Khasanov than to Bane.

            Once Ingold had closed the door, Bane stepped over to the table, loomed there, staring across at Khasanov. Like any good soldier, Khasanov would not speak until spoken to by his superior officer. In a show of utter unconcern for what the Chechen might try, Bane sat within easy reach across the table. His back ached from the unforgiving cot.

            “You have served me well over the years, brother,” Bane began. “Do you serve me still?”

            The question wrinkled Khasanov’s brow with pain. “Of course, sir.”

            “You can understand our caution.”

            “Yes, sir. I expected nothing less.”

            Bane considered Khasanov’s various mutilations. “That you are still alive after all this time speaks of your loyalty to our cause.”

            “I told them nothing. That is one of the reasons why they released me. I was worth more to them as a messenger than as a prisoner. They finally realized I would never break because I was trained by the unbreakable.”

            Bane’s stare remained glued to Khasanov’s single eye, an eye that never wavered or looked away. There was wired tension in the wasted muscles of Khasanov’s pale arms, but the tension was not from fear. No, it was from desperate determination to win back Bane’s favor and trust. Khasanov was ashamed that he had been caught by U.S. authorities and was being used as a puppet. Bane sensed all of this. Khasanov was no brainwashed traitor.

            “So what is your message for me, brother?”

            Relieved that his neck had not been snapped first thing, Khasanov relaxed his taut shoulders. He swallowed and wet his lips, spoke in a softer voice so his words would not carry beyond these walls.

            “They are not listening, are they? Our brothers outside?”

            Bane gave a slight, slow shake of his head. “I understand your message is for my ears only.”

            Khasanov nodded and leaned forward. “You know of the recent attacks by _Al Thi’b_ , the ones in America, I mean?”

            “Of course.”

            “The last one, against the Capitol, it was the final straw for them, for the Americans, I mean. They’ve had no success in finding _Al Thi’b_ or penetrating his network. But the CIA believes we have. And they believe you are alive.”

            “What intelligence do they have of my existence?”

            “They suspect you are somewhere in the Middle East, but other than that, they have nothing solid, from what I could gather. There were times, of course, early on when they tried to make me believe they had you in custody, but I knew it could not be, and eventually they abandoned such lies.”

            “So the Americans believe we have inside information on _Al Thi’b_?”

            “They do. And that is why they sent me to communicate with you. They are desperate to capture or kill _Al Thi’b_ , as you can imagine. They will go to any lengths, including colluding with one of their enemies to defeat another.”

            Bane rumbled a mirthless laugh behind the mask. “So they will try to use us to not only capture _Al Thi’b_ but to expose me as well? Why would they ever think I would play their foolish game?”

            “Because Gotham has been nearly forgotten in light of what _Al Thi’b_ has done in the U.S. and in Europe. He is the prize now. They are willing to look the other way if you were to agree to help them apprehend _Al Thi’b_ or offer irrefutable proof of his death.” Khasanov’s eye glistened with hope. “Immunity, sir. Total immunity for the Gotham operation.”

            Bane said nothing, showed no emotion, kept his gaze fixed on Khasanov. “It is a trap.”

            “No, sir. I don’t believe so. They are desperate, as I said.”

            “Yes, they are desperate for success. If they capture me, they can parade me in front of the cameras as a message to _Al Thi’b_ , that they eventually get their man, and that he is next.”

            Khasanov frowned.

            “Surely they know I would suspect such a plot?”

            “They do, sir. I told them as much myself in the hopes that they would deem me useless and kill me. But they are resolute. And because of that, I believe they are even open to negotiation on the terms. I thought perhaps this could end up helping the League, my cooperation in bringing this message to you.”

            “I see no value to the League.”

            “An assurance of your leadership, free from prosecution, sir. Nothing is more valuable to the League than to have your safety and continued leadership preserved, especially since our sister was lost.”

            So, Bane considered, Khasanov thought he was commanding the League of Shadows, not Talia. Did the Chechen truly believe Talia was dead, or was he merely baiting his commander into an admission?

            For the next hour, Bane questioned Khasanov in detail about his months in captivity, learning everything he could about his enemies as well as what Khasanov had endured, every gruesome detail. Though he admired the Chechen for what he had survived, Bane kept his expression stolid throughout.

            “You have been through much,” Bane said, standing. “I will leave you to rest. We will speak again before I leave.”

            Khasanov stood respectfully, wavering ever so slightly on his damaged feet, like a reed in a breeze. Bane knew the man would collapse upon his cot the minute he was alone again.

            “Thank you for coming,” Khasanov said. “I know the great risk you took.”

            “You have always been a man of uncommon valor, brother. I honor you.”

            “I hope you will still find value in me, sir. I wish to serve in whatever capacity you deem appropriate.” He faltered. “I understand, however, if you feel it necessary to disavow me.”

            Bane considered Khasanov for a long moment, purposefully waiting to see if the man could remain on his feet longer.

            Khasanov rested his knuckles on the table to steady himself, hesitated before asking in a hopeful voice, “Is she alive? Our sister. Did she survive Gotham?”

            Bane eyed him coldly, said, “No,” then left the room.

            Ingold stood outside the door, Barsad just down the hallway, armed with both pistol and assault rifle. His lieutenant’s penchant for having more weaponry than required for any given occasion amused Bane as he passed by Barsad without a word. His men followed him into the main room where a brewing coffee pot filled Bane’s senses with its pleasant aroma, mixing with that of wood smoke. The space was quiet, the other two operatives outside, positioned on vantage points beyond the village with clear lines of sight to the safe house.

            “Well?” Barsad asked, hard on his heels.

            “Why don’t you pour us each a cup of coffee, brother? You are much easier to deal with after you’ve had a few sips.”

            With an impatient scowl, Barsad set his rifle aside and went to the adjoining kitchen. Ingold, being a much less impassioned man than Barsad, stood at the unvarnished table as Bane sat. While Barsad brought the pot and three mismatched cups to the table, Bane took a pre-dosed syringe and capped needle from an inside jacket pocket to inject morphine. Then he removed the mask.

            “Would you like a hot breakfast, sir?” Ingold asked. “We have some local fare.”

            “Whatever you have is sufficient,” Bane replied. “The hotter the better this morning. I have been in a warm climate for so long now the cold seems to have a stronger effect on me.”

            “It’s your injuries,” Barsad said, then added with a taste of his usual humor, “and your age.”

            “Ah, I see the mere smell of coffee has renewed a bit of your humanity, brother. Sit.”

            As he obeyed, Barsad pressed again: “What did Khasanov say?”

            “He presented me with a proposal from the CIA, and we discussed his captivity as well.”

            “What sort of proposal? Do they know you’re alive or are they just speculating?”

            “Mere speculation, of course. I have no fear that our whereabouts these months have been discovered. As to the proposal, for now I will keep that to myself.”

            Barsad’s scowl returned. “A proposal from the CIA sounds like something we should discuss, here and now. Why wait?”

            “I prefer to discuss this matter with our sister first. But I will tell you I have no plans to give them what they want. The ultimate decision, however, will be Talia’s.”

            “Do they know she’s alive?”

            “I do not believe so.”

            “You believe everything Khasanov’s said?”

            “Thus far, yes. I believe he is still loyal to us. However, I will interview him again later today before we depart. What is the weather forecast tonight, Ingold?”

            “Still predicted to be dry and cloudy,” Ingold answered. “Chance of snow in the higher elevations, but nothing heavy.”

            “Very good.”

            Barsad stared at Bane, trying to see what was rattling around in his commander’s secretive brain, but the walls were up, and he knew he would have to be patient. Maybe Bane truly would wait to share the intelligence only with Talia, but Barsad figured Bane’s real reason for currently withholding information was Ingold’s presence. High-level discussions in the League were not made in the presence of subordinates.

            “So let us eat hearty, brother,” Bane said, “and rest in anticipation of our late departure. As you so kindly reminded me, I am not the spry youth I once was.” He cocked an eyebrow, the hint of a smile failing to improve the view of his mutilated mouth. “And neither are you.”

#

            “Good morning, Sanjana.”

            “Good morning, madam.”

            Sanjana set the tea tray down on the coffee table in front of her mistress, who was stretched on a sofa like a languid panther. Maysam wore a red silk robe, her long hair damp from her shower. She watched the servant pour the tea.

            Maysam sighed. “It’s too quiet around here since Barsad left. Do you miss him, Sanjana?”

            The question took Sanjana by surprise, but she hid her reaction by keeping her hands busy with her duties. She set the teapot down and offered her mistress the cup and saucer.

            “It is a pleasure to serve him, madam.”

            “That’s not what I asked, foolish girl. Do you miss him?”

            Sanjana hesitated. Since meeting Barsad, she sometimes wondered about his past with Maysam, especially because of the way the two looked at one another. Smiles that hinted at secrets untold, a strong affection. Or perhaps she was seeing things that were not there. Yet she was a curious young woman and thought a liaison between two such different people intriguing, particularly when she considered how dangerous such an affair would have been. Barsad, of course, would take none of the bait Sanjana threw out during their nightly conversations.

            “Yes, madam. I do miss him…like you do.”

            Maysam chuckled at her cagey answer. She sipped the tea then said, “And your lessons? Do you miss them?”

            Sanjana froze in fear, stammered, “My lessons, madam?”

            “Your English lessons. Now, don’t worry, I don’t object. And don’t be angry at Barsad for telling me. He felt obligated to clear it with me first, which was the right thing to do.” She took another sip. “My daughter was a strong proponent for women’s rights and education. She wanted to study law and become an activist. She was a modern girl, you see. Too modern in many respects, or in all respects in her father’s eyes.”

            “I wish I could have met her, madam. Mr. Barsad has told me about her. I hope you don’t mind.”

            “Of course not.” Maysam knew Barsad would be discreet with how much he revealed about Melisande, especially when it came to Bane’s part in her life. “She should be spoken about often so she is honored and remembered.”

            Sanjana nodded to a nearby picture of Melisande on the table, a photo taken shortly before she had been condemned. “She was a beautiful woman.”

            Maysam smiled at the photo with melancholy. “She was indeed. She embodied what was good in both her father and me. She was better than us. Courageous and strong.”

            “I am sorry for your loss.”

            “Thank you, Sanjana.”

            Eager to change the subject, Sanjana moved to make up Maysam’s bed, saying, “Your granddaughter sends her regrets, madam. She is not feeling well enough to join you for breakfast this morning.”

            “What?” Maysam turned.

            “She said she will share lunch with you instead.”

            Immediately Maysam stood and tightened the belt on her robe. “Sanjana, carry the tea tray to my granddaughter’s suite. And bring my breakfast there as well when it’s ready. I will sit with Talia.”

            At Talia’s door, Maysam paused to knock, but before she could, she heard the disturbing sound of her granddaughter vomiting. Maysam hurried inside and found the door to the nearby half bath open partway, light spilling out into the bedroom where the curtains were still closed.

            “Talia?”

            She found her granddaughter sitting on the tile floor in front of the toilet, wiping her mouth with a tissue. When Talia turned to her, Maysam made a sympathetic sound and crouched beside her, pushing her hair away from her pale face.

            “What is it, _hafida_?” Maysam crooned. “You were sick yesterday as well. But I thought you were doing better; you said so yourself.”

            “I was. It came back this morning.”

            This last word triggered realization in both of them, their eyes locking. A knock at the door jarred them out of their shock.

            “I brought the tea, madam.”

            “Stay here,” Maysam said before rushing to the door. She took the tea tray from Sanjana before the servant could enter. “Hurry to the kitchen and have some ginger tea made. Bring it back here as soon as it’s brewed. And have my breakfast delivered to my bedroom, after all, instead of here.”

            “Y—yes, madam,” Sanjana said in confusion.

            “Hurry, child.”

            Setting the tea tray down and closing the door again, Maysam rushed back to the bathroom where Talia remained on the floor, staring vacantly at the toilet tank. Maysam took hold of her arm.

            “Come, _hafida_. Let’s get you back to bed. I sent Sanjana for some ginger tea. It will help with the nausea.”

            Numb, Talia allowed her grandmother to help her to her feet and to her bed. She groaned softly at the movement, then sank to the mattress with relief, burying her sweaty face in a pillow.

            “Talia.” Maysam’s heart pounded with excitement as she stroked her granddaughter’s hair. “When was your last period?”

            “No, _Jiddah_ ,” Talia moaned. “No. I can’t be pregnant.”

            “Tell me. Have you missed?”

            “Yes. One time.”

            Maysam squeezed her hand. “You haven’t been taking birth control?”

            “I am now, but I wasn’t when… I had stopped after Gotham, when I was recuperating. I didn’t start again until after we came back here from _’Eth Alth’eban_.”

            “Have you taken a pregnancy test?”

            “Of course not. This just started the other day. It could just be a virus or something.”

            “When Sanjana returns with the tea, I will send her to the village to fetch a pregnancy test. We must find out quickly so your physician can be summoned.”

            Talia wished her grandmother would quit smiling. If she was pregnant, she could not stay that way, but it was obvious her grandmother did not feel the same aversion as she. Until the pregnancy was verified, she would say nothing about terminating it. Right now all she wanted to do was lie still and hope the ginger tea would help. She closed her eyes, tried not to think.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING for sexual violence

            Maysam sat on Talia’s bed, impatiently wringing her hands. The door to the half bath was closed, her granddaughter inside, having quickly disappeared once Sanjana had returned with the pregnancy test. For comfort, Maysam took hold of the blanket that had once belonged to her daughter. She pulled it into her embrace, held tightly and closed her eyes. The handcrafted blanket—a dark maroon and brown with floral designs and fringed edges—smelled of both Talia and Bane, directing Maysam’s thoughts to what occurred here in this bed, a bed she and Siddig used to shared.

            While her own sexual partners had been limited to Siddig and Barsad, Maysam knew Talia’s mission in Gotham had provided her granddaughter with a much wider experience in men. Talia had shared many things with her about Miranda Tate’s conquests; they had that type of relationship—an openness Maysam loved. Their sex talks most often happened when they had drunk a bit too much wine in the evenings. Then they would giggle like girls over stories about Bane and Barsad. Sometimes during these talks Maysam allowed herself to think of Bane in a sexual way, as any woman would who knew such a specimen of virility. Of course she never admitted these imaginings to anyone.

            “The men I was with in Gotham let their egos get in the way in bed,” Talia once said. “They all wanted to impress me with their prowess, most of which was imagined.” She snorted a laugh of derision and tipped her glass back. “Bane, on the other hand, checks his ego at the door. He’s genuine…and refreshingly naïve sometimes. Oh, don’t get me wrong, he enjoys the dominant role, but he’s also happy to let me dictate. In fact, I think it turns him on when I order him about in the bedroom. And since coming back here, he’s become quite romantic, _Jiddah_. Like he’s trying to woo me, not just seduce me like the fools in Gotham.” Talia lowered her voice and leaned forward to speak near a whisper, “And I think he reads my Cosmo magazines in the bathroom because he’s been a bit…adventurous afterwards.” She winked, and they both laughed.

            The way Talia spoke of Bane since returning to the palace warmed Maysam’s heart. As their time together lengthened, Maysam detected more happiness in her granddaughter’s voice and saw a small spark in her eyes. Talia even hummed now and then, and recently she asked Maysam to teach her some traditional dances to pass the time.

            Maysam now glanced at the clock on Talia’s nightstand and crossed over to the bathroom door. She had been in there far longer than necessary.

            “ _Hafida_ , is everything all right? Did you take the test?”

            A pause then a distant, “Yes.”

            “May I come in? What did it say?” Maysam rested a sweaty palm on the doorknob.

            Another pause.

            “Talia?”

            The door slowly opened, and Talia brushed past, expression unreadable. She returned to bed.

            “ _Habibati_ , what did it say?”

            Talia slipped under her mother’s blanket and lay on her side as Maysam sat next to her. Maysam brushed her cold cheek with the back of her hand.

            “Are you pregnant, child?”

            Talia closed her eyes, murmured, “Yes.”

            Maysam gasped with joy, though she had warned herself not to allow any overt display once she heard the news. After all, Talia’s refusal to discuss such possibilities after Sanjana had been sent into town a short while ago told her much about her granddaughter’s state of mind. Talia had dismissed her to return to her room to dress and enjoy breakfast while Sanjana was gone, and though Maysam had wanted to refuse and stay by Talia’s bedside, she had respected the request.

            “You aren’t happy, _hafida_?”

            “I can’t be pregnant,” Talia groaned into her pillow.

            “Why do you keep saying that?”

            Talia opened her eyes. “You know why, _Jiddah_. Look at me. I’m at a crossroads in my life. This isn’t the time to take on this kind of responsibility. And I’m not mother material.”

            “Nonsense,” Maysam soothed, stroking Talia’s hair. “You will make a wonderful mother.”

            “I can’t keep this child, _Jiddah_. I must terminate it before Bane returns. He can’t know.”

            “Talia!” Maysam cried, withdrawing her hand. “You will do no such thing. This is Bane’s child, too. He has every right to know. You aren’t thinking clearly.”

            Talia covered her face with her hands, fighting back tears.

            “How can you even consider killing your child? Think of your mother. She would be so happy if she were here. But if she heard what you just said, she would be ashamed of you. How do you think she felt when she was in prison and found out she was pregnant with you? Living in that environment, how could she even contemplate raising a child there, especially if it was born a girl? But she didn’t kill you. No, she accepted the consequences of her actions, and so you lived, a survivor of that horrible place and a blessing to me and Bane. It breaks my heart to think of being robbed of you. And Bane would feel the same if you go through with this and he later finds out. He might never forgive you. Do you want that?”

            Talia dragged her hands from her moist eyes. “You don’t know that, _Jiddah_. He might feel the way I do. Look at the life he leads. Where is there room for a child in such a life?”

            “Bane might feel the way you do if it were some other woman’s child, but it’s your child, Talia. He will love it as he loves you. How often have you told me how much he loved your mother? Well, he would never forsake Melisande’s grandchild.”

            “Bane is a soldier, _Jiddah_ , and a realist. He knows there’s no place in his world for a child.”

            “If you’re right—but I don’t believe you are—then the child could live here with me. I could raise it.”

            “We could never ask that of you. And it wouldn’t be fair to the child.”

            “And killing it would be?”

            “ _Jiddah_ , please.” Talia’s face suddenly turned a mossy color, and she pushed back the blanket to scramble for the bathroom.

            Maysam frowned at the sounds of Talia vomiting into the toilet again. She wanted to go to her granddaughter to comfort her but remained on the bed, one hand caressing Melisande’s blanket. She would not give up this fight. If she had to, she would tell Bane about the baby herself. Yet Bane would not be back for at least a couple of days; by then, it could be too late. She needed to convince Talia.

            A knock on the door drew Maysam across the room. Sanjana awaited.

            “I brought another pot of ginger tea, madam.”

            “Thank you, Sanjana. Just set it on the table over there. You brought the ice chips, too?”

            “Yes, madam.”

            “Very good.” After setting down the tea tray, Sanjana glanced toward the bathroom door. “Is your granddaughter feeling any better, madam?” Sanjana was dying to hear if Talia was pregnant but knew her mistress would never reveal such a thing.

            “A little. I’m sure the tea will help.”

            The bathroom door opened, and Talia padded back to bed without seeming to notice Sanjana.

            “Is there anything else, madam?”

            “Not right now.”

            With a surreptitious glance Talia’s way, Sanjana departed.

            The interval had helped settle Maysam’s swirling emotions. She returned to the bed with a cup of tea, fresh resolve and a new tactic in mind.

            Gently she said, “Drink this, _hafida_. It will get the awful taste from your mouth. I had Sanjana bring you some ice chips as well. You must stay hydrated.”

            Talia’s latest bout of nausea had taken some of the fight out of her, and she willingly accepted her grandmother’s aid. Maysam fluffed her pillows and set them behind her back so she could sit up to drink.

            “Small sips,” Maysam said. “Like before.” She watched Talia drink, waited a moment before continuing in a calm voice. “I don’t want to upset you anymore, _hafida_. You aren’t feeling well, so it’s unfair of me. But I will say one last thing for you to think about before I leave you alone.”

            Talia kept her gaze on her tea, hands trembling.

            “You and I both want the same thing—for you to step down from your position with the League. Perhaps this child will make it possible.”

            Talia’s eyes lifted to hers. “What do you mean?”

            “If you are pregnant, Bane won’t want you stressed by the duties required by your office. I believe he will actually insist you step down, at least while you are pregnant and perhaps longer.”

            Talia considered this. She had been so absorbed by the shock of her pregnancy being verified that she had not thought beyond that.

            “He’ll think I tricked him, that I got pregnant on purpose.”

            “He will believe whatever you tell him.”

            “You believe me, don’t you, _Jiddah_? I didn’t plan this.”

            “I believe you, of course. It’s obvious to me.” She smiled. “I know this isn’t something you wanted, but I have to tell you I’m thrilled. It is a gift and a blessing. You’ll see.”

            Talia frowned at her teacup. “It’s overwhelming.”

            “Naturally. I felt the same way when I found out I was pregnant with your mother.”

            “It wasn’t planned?”

            “Yes, we were trying to have a baby, but trying and realizing you’re actually pregnant are two different realities.” She took Talia’s hand. “But you won’t be alone, the way I felt. I’ll be with you every step of the way, and so will Bane.”

            “But…our relationship…I don’t even know what it is. And now…a baby. I’m not as confident as you about Bane’s reaction, _Jiddah_.”

            “You will see. Trust me.” Maysam kissed her granddaughter’s hand. “So you will keep it? My great-grandchild?” She gave Talia her most pleading, hopeful look, kissed her hand again, squeezed tight.

            Such a look! Talia realized how important this child would be to her grandmother. A piece of Melisande would come back to her, to all of them. A new life to help fill the void left by that tragic death. But to be the one to raise a child? Talia could not imagine it. Perhaps her grandmother’s offer to raise the baby would be the best course of action for all of them. Having that option helped ease some of Talia’s anxiety, that as well as her grandmother’s wise words about the pregnancy giving her a way to secure her release from her father’s legacy as Demon Head.

            At last she said, “I’ll let Bane decide.”

#

            Sanjana stared at the single, tiny window in her one-room living quarters. Beyond the homemade curtain, night had fallen around the palace. Her room was just down the hall from the kitchen, and though the day had not been overly warm, this small space was stuffy by this time, so an old fan vibrated on her little table where she sat. Her supper plate, now empty, lay shoved to the corner opposite the fan. In front of her lay a small digital recorder. She pressed the play button and smiled when Barsad’s smooth voice surrounded her.

            In Hindi he said, “ _Namaste, meraa naam Sanjana hai_.” Then he slowly repeated the sentence in English, “Hello, my name is Sanjana.” As he did so, Sanjana spoke the words with him, enjoying the way their voices blended. This was the first recording he had made for her weeks ago when he had started teaching her English. Lessons were added to it every week, but she would always start at the beginning, so she could practice everything again. And she also enjoyed hearing Barsad say her name, especially now when he was away from the palace.

            She played a bit more of the recording but refrained from speaking over him. Thinking of Maysam revealing her knowledge of Barsad’s English lessons, Sanjana sighed with relief. Not only had she lived in fear of her mistress finding out, she had been even more concerned that such awareness would force Maysam to terminate not only her service to Barsad but to the palace. Agreeing to the lessons—they were Barsad’s idea—had been an exciting risk, and she had been somewhat confident that Maysam’s affinity for Barsad would be her salvation should they be found out. Now Sanjana wondered why Barsad had never told her that he had received permission to tutor her. Then her lips twisted in a wry smile, and she softly snorted. No doubt Barsad had found amusement in teasing her about “their secret.” He could be as mischievous as a little boy.

            “Do you miss him?” Maysam’s question from this morning returned to her, as clear as if she were standing in this room.

            Sanjana did miss him, more than she had anticipated. She had even gone to his room earlier today, though she had no practical reason to do so. For a moment she had allowed herself to sit on his bed. Never had she done so before, though she made his bed every day. One time, during her English lessons, Barsad had sat beside her on the sofa. Sanjana had been so surprised by his boldness that she had instinctively moved a few inches away from him, something she immediately regretted because of the disappointment and embarrassment on his dark face and because never again did he attempt to be so intimate.

            Amidst a myriad of pleasant memories, she also remembered the chilling moment when he had aimed his pistol at her. That cold, sharp look, the look of a trained killer. She often reminded herself of that whenever her feelings for him tried to deepen. Yes, he was a friend to her, but that still did not erase what he had done in Gotham and all the other places she did not know about.

            Though Sanjana had no idea where Barsad was now, the fact that he had accompanied Bane told her it was a dangerous undertaking. He had, however, told her that he would only be gone a few days, so that consoled her. The thought of never seeing him again shook her, especially when she realized that one day he would indeed leave. She took heart, though, in knowing his friendship with Maysam would most likely bring him back at another time.

            Sanjana jumped at the sound of someone trying to open her door.

            “Sanjana, unlock your door at once.”

            She hastily turned off the recording and froze at the sound of her master’s voice. Why on earth would Amir El Fadil come to the lower level of the palace? Had something happened to Maysam?

            “Sanjana, at once!”

            As she moved to obey, she remembered Barsad’s often-repeated warning to avoid Amir whenever possible. Hisham had told her enough about Amir’s violent nature to make Barsad’s warning superfluous.

            Something fluttered in her stomach as she opened the door, instantly shifting to the side as Amir barged in. Beyond him, in the hallway, stood one of his bodyguards like a granite mountain. Sanjana pressed her back against the near wall, eyes on the ground, mortified that she wore only a thin cotton nightgown, its off-white color barely able to camouflage her nipples. At least the room was only dimly lit by the small lamp on the table.

            Amir closed the door and stood in front of her for a moment, clad in a black silk robe and satin slippers. His respiration was a bit elevated, the smell of brandy upon him. Then he moved to the table and swiped up the recorder, pressed the play button. Sanjana’s heart clenched in fear, for she knew Amir would not be as open-minded about her lessons as his sister-in-law.

            “Yes, I thought I heard his wretched voice as I was passing,” Amir said, stopping the recording.

            His attempt to make his appearance seem unplanned did not ring true with Sanjana, for the master never came to this level of the palace.

            Amir turned back to her. “Where did you get this device?”

            She prayed he would leave. “From Mr. Barsad, _sahib_.”

            “You stole it?”

            “No, sahib! He loaned it to me.”

            Amir played another snippet from the recorder. “He’s teaching you English?”

            “Madam said it was acceptable, sahib.”

            “She is wrong.” Amir dropped the recorder into a pocket of his robe.

            Sanjana stifled a gasp. “Please, sahib, if you are going to take it, return it to Mr. Barsad’s suite.”

            “I will do with it what I please, whore.”

            She flinched at his insult.

            Amir stepped closer. “Mr. Barsad’s suite. You are very familiar with that, aren’t you?”

            “I serve him, sahib, so yes.”

            “You serve him,” Amir mocked. “As if I don’t know what that entails. Don’t play me a fool, whore. Thanks to my sister-in-law, that man brings dishonor to this house, and you consort with him.”

            “He is teaching me English, sahib. That is all. And it is after I am through with my daily duties.”

            “Duties that include whoring with this infidel. Such behavior is what got you in this position to begin with. Apparently you learned nothing from your sins. And now you join him in dishonoring my home, all with my sister-in-law’s blessing, no doubt. She is encouraging this to insult me.”

            “No, sahib. Mr. Barsad is my tutor. Nothing more.”

            Amir grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look at him. “Don’t lie to me. That American dog isn’t going to merely be a teacher to a girl from the slums. You are beautiful enough for such a dog to fuck. There is no other reason why he would associate with you, especially when he knows you are sullied. You are nothing but a whore to him.”

            Sanjana clenched her jaw.

            “Ah, so you think you are something more to him? Fool! He is playing with you. You must know what he is—a murderer, a torturer, a mercenary, one of the most wanted criminals in the world.”

            “He is kind to me.”

            Amir slapped her across the face. “And that justifies what you do with him?”

            Horrified, she pressed a hand to her burning cheek. “He is my tutor.” Her words trembled. “That is all, sahib,”

            He slapped her again, this time hard enough to split her lip. “I said don’t lie to me, whore.”

            Amir grabbed her wrist and yanked her away from him. Off balance, Sanjana fell onto her nearby charpoy. He grabbed her long hair and pulled her to her feet.

            “When he returns,” Amir sneered in her face, “you will do nothing more than your domestic duties require. No more late-evening talks and lessons or anything else you do with him. Do you understand?”

            She winced against the pain and the smell of him burning in her nostrils, but she would not allow herself to cry or make a sound. He yanked her hair again with such force that she feared a fistful would come away in his grip.

            “Do you understand?”

            Sanjana wanted to spit in his face, but fear paralyzed her.

            “No?” Amir flung her upon the charpoy. “Then I will make you understand.”

            With a whispering tug, the silk belt of his robe gave way, revealing that he wore nothing beneath. Sanjana scrambled to get away, trying to dart around him for the door, but there was little space to do so. He caught her by the arm and threw her back on the charpoy.

            “No!” she cried, hoping one of the other servants in the adjacent rooms would hear her, yet knowing at the same time that they would never intervene, especially with the thug standing guard in the hallway. “I understand, sahib. I understand!”

            This time he used his fist, hitting her so hard against the jaw that her face went numb. She collapsed onto her stomach. Then he was on top of her, shoving her nightgown up. Sanjana struggled, but his strength and weight were impossible to defeat. He pressed her face into her pillow. She fought to turn her head to breathe. His knees spread her legs, and she screamed even before he penetrated her. Sharp, white-hot pain. The memory of the first rape mingled with the reality of this one, and she prayed for unconsciousness as Amir drove into her repeatedly. When she started to scream again, he shoved her face deep into the pillow, snarled in her ear, “Shut up, bitch. Shut up and take it.”

            She stopped fighting, stopped breathing, prayed for death. Sound tunneled away from her, blocking his disgusting grunts and groans as he quickened. Unconsciousness drew closer, just began to wrap itself around her when Amir jerked her head back by her hair. He had finished.

            “Now you understand,” he said hoarsely in her ear. “And if you forget our understanding or foolishly mention this to anyone, I will personally kill everyone in your family, slowly and in front of each other. Then I will send their heads to you. Do you understand _that_ as well, whore?”

            Sanjana was sobbing now, softly, unwittingly, her whole body aflame in agony, as if a knife had sliced the length of her.

            “Remember what I said,” Amir hissed, rising from the charpoy. “You will stay away from that American dog. Besides, he will not want you now that I’ve had you.”

            Sanjana could not move, too terrified that even a twitch or a word would bring him down on her again. Even after he left, she remained there still, feeling blood trickle between her clamped thighs. Slowly she curled into a fetal ball and freed her choking sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hesitated and thought long and hard before writing/including this rape scene. To me, rape is the worst crime imaginable. Someone close to me suffered such a thing years ago, so I do not write about it lightly, and I often avoid reading fiction that includes rape. However, I knew it would not be believable for a character like Amir not to do what he did to Sanjana. He is angry and frustrated that he cannot rid his life of Bane and Barsad without jeopardizing his empire. And since he can't take those frustrations out on Bane and Barsad, he would do so to someone helpless and marginalized and completely under his power, especially when he learns that Barsad is trying to better Sanjana's life. To Amir, Sanjana is his property.


	15. Chapter 15

            Bane and Barsad returned to the palace in the middle of the night, having endured another dangerous and grueling nocturnal journey. Not wanting to disturb Talia, Bane accompanied Barsad to his room.

            “Take the bed,” Barsad directed. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

            “The couch is sufficient for me.”

            “You’re too fucking big. Now don’t argue, damn it. We’re both exhausted.”

            And with that, Barsad dropped his pack next to the couch, lay down, and was snoring within seconds of his head hitting the pillow. Returning from the bathroom, Bane stood over his bearded lieutenant for a moment, wondering at how he allowed Barsad to speak to him in such a manner. Humility, Temujin had taught him, was one of the many virtues a man of the League must acquire. And Barsad was always wise enough to know those lessons should only be taught when he and Bane were away from their brethren. Bane smiled behind the mask and turned away from his friend.

            Bane’s eagerness to see Talia kept him awake for a short while before fatigue claimed him. He did not, however, sleep as long as Barsad. His lieutenant snored on, drooling on his pillow, when Bane arose with the sun. Dressing quickly, he slipped from the room and headed down the long hallway to his suite.

            Yemi, standing guard outside the door, greeted him, “Good morning, sir. I heard you were back.”

            Hisham was coming down the hallway from the opposite direction, carrying a tea tray. Bane thought it odd because Talia was rarely awake this early, and he doubted Hisham had already been alerted to his return. Judging by the surprise in Hisham’s brown eyes, Bane was correct in his assumption.

            “Good morning, sir,” the servant said. “I was just bringing her ginger tea. I wasn’t aware you had returned. I will see to your breakfast immediately.”

            “Thank you, Hisham.”

            Bane opened the door for the servant to carry in the tray, then followed him. The suite lay in thin darkness, early sunlight barely filtering through the drawn curtains. The bed curtains were also closed except for the side closest to the bathroom. Talia lay asleep on her side, facing the door, as her training had taught her. She never concerned herself with such precautions when Bane was with her, a thought that made him smile with pride.

            Hisham made little sound as he set the tray on the nightstand and retreated.

            For a long, pleasurable moment Bane stood beside the bed, drinking in the sight of his treasure. He loved watching her sleep, always had, ever since she had been a mere babe in her mother’s arms. In prison, he used to reach through the bars that separated their cells and caress her fleshy cheeks, for they were too irresistible not to touch. Sometimes his cold fingers awakened her, and Melisande would scold him, but her displeasure did not last long, for Talia’s sleepy smile would make them chuckle.

            Perhaps it was the scent of the ginger tea or perhaps it was his scent that stirred her. She cracked her eyelids open. A mild smile stretched her pale lips, and in a hoarse murmur she said, “You’re back…safe.”

            “Yes, my sleepy flower.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “And Hisham has brought you tea. Isn’t it a bit early for you? Why did he bring it when you were still asleep?”

            She diverted her gaze, and the smile vanished. “I was awake earlier. I haven’t slept well since you left.”

            “I am sorry to hear that. Forgive me.”

            “There’s no need to apologize.”

            He brushed a hand against Melisande’s blanket covering her. “Shall I pour you a cup, my dear?”

            “Yes, please.” She sat back against her pillows, wearing a sapphire-colored chemise that matched her eyes. “Did you just get back?”

            “A few hours ago.”

            “Have you slept?”

            “Yes.”

            She eyed his rumpled clothing. “It doesn’t look like it. And I didn’t hear you come in.”

            “No. I slept in Barsad’s room. I didn’t want to disturb you. And I was going to let you sleep now while I showered. I’m sorry I woke you.”

            “You didn’t. I smelled the tea.”

            He handed her a cup and saucer, wondering why she had suddenly developed a taste for ginger tea.

            “I want to hear what you learned from Khasanov,” she said after a sip. “But you look exhausted. Why don’t you rest first?”

            “I will rest later. Hisham will be bringing my breakfast shortly; I’m famished. Shall I tell him to bring yours as well?”

            Talia’s face paled, and she stared at her cup. “I’m not hungry yet. I’ll eat later.”

            He wondered at her expression. “Very well.” Standing, he continued, “I fear my travels have left a foul smell about me, so if you don’t mind I shall shower before Hisham returns. That will renew me well enough to debrief you.”

            When he started to turn away, her voice caught him. She had rested her saucer and cup on one thigh and reached out a hand, which he clasped. The emotion that filled her eyes surprised him as she said, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

            He smiled, unexpectedly moved by her admission. “I was counting the hours,” he said, squeezing her hand before departing for the bathroom.

            Talia watched him lumber from the room. He was more tired than he was letting on, she suspected. And she thought she detected a shortness to his gait, telling her that the arduous journey had taxed his damaged back. She would insist that he do very little today.

            She had always felt relief when he successfully completed a mission, dating back to their early days in Bhutan. But seeing him this time was different. In the past he had not had the high price on his head that he now bore. In Bhutan, he had simply been a nameless member of the League of Shadows and then, later, the enigmatic mercenary known only as the Masked Man. Now he was the notorious and hunted Bane, Gotham’s Reckoning. The whole world was hunting him. The chances of him never returning to her had been great. That alone would have crushed her, but knowing that he was the father of her child and losing him… Talia closed her eyes and shuddered at the unfinished thought, banished it.

            For the past three days she had been rehearsing various ways to broach the subject of her pregnancy. She still was unsure that she was doing the right thing by not aborting it. If not for her grandmother and the memory of her own mother that Maysam had stirred, Talia figured she would have terminated the pregnancy. It was not that she felt nothing for the life growing within her; it was more of a deep awareness of her weakened mental state and the fact that she had never had any maternal feelings. She remembered how the girls at Le Rosey and at university talked incessantly about getting married and having children. Though Talia sometimes played along, claiming she wanted those things, too, more often than not she said nothing or would shrug away their questions. Having grown up exclusively with men, she knew nothing of dolls and dances, of slumber parties and dating. She had never pursued boys while in school; they had pursued her. After her first boyfriend cheated on her and broke her heart, she vowed to never let it happen again.

            Talia sipped her tea and smiled when she remembered how she had confided in Bane once back at the monastery the summer of the breakup. Bane had vowed that he would go to Le Rosey himself and snap the boy’s neck if she desired, but Talia reminded him that her father would never allow such an indiscretion. Bane had been a great comfort to her then, letting her cry in his arms and talk incessantly about how she had been wronged. He spent as much time with her as possible, spoiling her and entertaining her.

            She really did not deserve him. That realization had been haunting her since discovering the pregnancy. Any chance of him one day finding a woman worthy of him would be dashed by the obligation of fatherhood. Even if Bane did not want this child, which surely he would not, Talia knew he would be responsible when it came to its upbringing if she birthed it, even if Maysam raised it for them. He would be trapped.

            It. She told herself to stop thinking of the baby that way. Boy or girl? What difference did it make? Should she feel one inclination or another? What did other women feel? She needed to ask her grandmother so many things, if Bane insisted they keep it.

            She sipped more of the tea before setting the cup back on its tray. It did help settle her stomach. The past days she had vomited less and had been able to leave her bed sooner than the days before. She hated being an invalid. Such an intolerable inconvenience made pregnancy even less desirable. With a huff, she allowed herself to sink down in the swaddling comfort of the blankets for a few minutes more, listening to the distant sound of Bane’s shower and thinking again of what she would say.

            After a time, Talia left the bed to open the curtains and the balcony doors. It was a beautiful autumn day with temperatures in the lower sixties this early. Soon enough they would have to close the doors and windows and turn the air conditioning on, but for now she would enjoy the sounds and smells from outside. Flowers hanging from the veranda pleased her nose while the cry of a peacock echoed in the courtyard below. A falcon soared high, the sky like a blue canvas stroked by a white paint brush, leaving thin-fingered, ethereal clouds in its wake.

            By the time Talia dressed in loose-fitting cotton pants and blouse and had teased her short hair into some semblance of order, Hisham was knocking on the door with Bane’s breakfast.

            The servant looked surprised to see her up. “Would you like your breakfast, too, madam? Or are you joining your grandmother when she dines?”

            “I’ll just have some of Bane’s fruit and Bhujia toast for now. I’m not very hungry yet.”

            “As you wish, madam.”

            Hisham wheeled the breakfast cart to the dining room across from Bane’s office, Talia trailing behind.

            “Hisham, tell Sanjana to make your mistress aware of Bane’s return.”

            “I have already told madam the news. Sanjana is not feeling well today, so I am taking on her duties.”

            “I’m sorry to hear that. Tell Sanjana I hope she is feeling better soon.”

            “Thank you, madam. I will.”

            Barsad would be disappointed, Talia reflected as she sat at the table.

            She had transported the teapot on the cart and now poured herself more of the ginger tea while Hisham set the covered dishes on the table. A few minutes after Hisham left, Bane arrived, dressed in a black silk robe and free of his mask.

            “It would please me to no end,” he said, sitting to her right at the round table, “if today you would shave my head. It is feeling bristly, and it is so much simpler to have someone else do it.” He smiled. “And better you than Barsad.”

            She returned the smile. “After you eat, then.”

            “Thank you, my dear.”

            Talia removed the covers from the food, and as the smells filled the air, her cheeks once again paled a bit. She hurried to open the veranda doors.

            “Are you feeling all right, _habibati_?”

            Talia offered an unconvincing smile as she returned to the table. “Just a bit of a stomach upset.”

            “Ah, so that explains the ginger tea. Are you not eating, then?”

            “I thought I’d just steal some of your toast and some fruit.”

            “I can have Hisham bring more.”

            “That’s not necessary. I’ll just have a little for now.”

            Bane studied her, knew she was hiding something. Had she been ill while he was gone? He would ask Maysam.

            “Tell me what Khasanov said,” Talia interrupted his worries.

            As he debriefed her on his interviews with their League brother, he noticed that she did not even touch her toast until he was halfway through his narrative. Though she had always been a small thing, she usually ate well, especially breakfast; it was her favorite meal of the day. And her silence was also disturbing. Normally she would be interrupting with questions and offering opinions, but today she said not a word, listening yet showing a distance in her eyes that he did not like.

            “The Americans must indeed be desperate to catch _Al Thi’b_ ,” Talia said, “to make you such an offer. So what did you tell Khasanov to relay to the CIA?”

            “He is to report to them that he confirmed through our brothers that I did indeed die in Gotham, and they disposed of my body.”

            “Do you think they will believe him?”

            “Some will, some won’t.”

            “And what of Khasanov? Wouldn’t it have been better to eliminate him?”

            “If we had, they would be more inclined to believe I am alive.”

            “But how do you know he will say you’re dead?”

            “An instinct, as well as my long history with Khasanov. He will enjoy deceiving his captors. It will be a bit of revenge for him.”

            “So you trust him still?”

            “Enough. He endured more than most men ever could. It was sufficient to convince me of his loyalty.”

            “What will they do with him?”

            “They are supposed to let him go. That was their agreement should he make contact with the League for them.”

            “Will they?”

            “I believe so. He is of no further use to them. He will return to Chechnya until they are done surveilling him. Then, if he so desires, I will allow him to rejoin our ranks. Not as a fighter, though; he is far too damaged for the rigors of field work. But I believe he would make an excellent instructor for our initiates.”

            “Does Barsad agree that Khasanov is no threat?”

            “He is not as assured as I am, but that is not unusual, is it?” Bane smirked.

            “Certainly not. But I do hope you listened to him.”

            “Of course, my pet. I always do.”

            “He would disagree.”

            “He would.”

            Bane sat back and savored a swallow of coffee, studying Talia whose attention had drifted off again, out into the strengthening morning sunlight.

            “Something is troubling you, _habibati_. Something beyond Khasanov. What is it?”

            Talia rolled her lips together, then chewed on her lower lip, like she used to do as a child when uneasy.

            “Did something happen while I was away? Is your grandmother all right?”

            She still stared out the window, furrows aging her forehead. “ _Jiddah’s_ fine.”

            “Is it Amir?”

            She shook her head, finally turned to him, her large eyes filled with a million things. Bane reached for her hand.

            “What is it, _habibati_. Tell me.”

            Talia swallowed hard, fought to find her voice, choked out, “I’m pregnant.”

            For a long moment Bane stared in stunned silence, as if caught in a vacuum. Few times in his life had he ever been speechless. Like his tongue, his mind stopped functioning properly. How could Talia be pregnant? She had been only with him these past weeks. Or had she? Was one of his brothers here at the palace involved with her? Barsad? How could this be? After all those partners in Gotham, she had never gotten pregnant, so why now?

            “Bane,” Talia’s worried voice drew him from his fog. She was leaning toward him, her hand squeezing his. “Say something.”

            “How…how is this possible?”

            Talia tilted her head, frowned. “I wasn’t on birth control the first few times we were together, not until we came back here and I was able to acquire my pills. I’m sorry.”

            _Together_. The word reverberated in his muddled brain. The two of them. Together. Only the two of them. No one else. Of course not.

            “Sorry for what?” he managed, blinking away the cobwebs.

            “For this, for the pregnancy. I should have been more careful.”

            “Talia.” Easily sensing her distress, Bane knelt beside her chair, still holding her hand. His other hand went to her belly. “There is no need to apologize. This is my responsibility as much as yours.”

            She hung her head.

            “This is why you are not feeling well.”

            She nodded. “I just found out the other day.”

            “Does your grandmother know?”

            “Yes. She’s ecstatic, of course.”

            “But you are not.”

            “How can I be? I’m not mother material, Bane. You know that.”

            “I know nothing of the sort. And neither do you.” He tilted her chin up and smiled. “You are frightened, _habibati_. My brave little minx is unfamiliar with such an emotion. That is all it is. It will pass.” Then the smile faded away. “Or is it that you don’t want to keep this child?”

            “I don’t know. I needed to talk to you before I decided anything. It is, after all, your baby, too.”

            Her lack of enthusiasm did not totally surprise him, though he was a bit disappointed. His hand returned to her belly. “This is your mother’s grandchild, Talia. And Maysam’s great-grandchild. We both know what they want.”

            “Yes, but it’s _our_ child. And look at us and the life we lead. How can there be a child in that life?”

            “You have wanted to step down from your post. This will give you more time away to consider your future. In the meantime, I will continue as your interim commander.”

            “I didn’t do this on purpose, Bane. You must believe me.”

            “I do, _habibati_.” He smiled teasingly. “You are a woman of many talents and strategies, but even you would not do this to obtain your goal.”

            Relief eased away some of the creases on her broad forehead. “What should we do? If you don’t want it, there’s time to—”

            “No. Do not say it, Talia. You are only thinking this because of your fear.”

            “Tell me what _you_ want.”

            “True enough, we are not ideal parents, and I know I am not your first choice to father your children. However—”

            “Don’t say that, Bane.”

            “Say what—the truth? I have no delusions.”

            “The truth isn’t that simple, and it isn’t that clear, especially right now. But I have no doubts that you will be a good father.”

            “There is no certainty of that.”

            “You raised _me_. And you love me. Those are certainties. And because of that, even if for no other reason, I know you will be a good father. But you didn’t answer me about what _you_ want.”

            “I want you to be happy. And I think this child will make you happy. It will give you a new purpose. And maybe one day she will make it possible for you to step down as Demon Head; she will take your place, once you are old and gray and ready for a rest.”

            “She?” Talia cocked an eyebrow.

            “Of course she. The line of strong, beautiful women that started with your grandmother must continue.”

            “You still haven’t answered my question. You’re stalling.”

            “I am not. I am simply trying to help you understand the motivation behind my desire for you to keep this child.”

            “Your desire?”

            “Yes.” He drew her face down to him, to his damaged lips, and kissed her. “This child does not tie you to me, _habibati_. You will always be free.”

            “I am tied to you. We’ve been tied to one another since I was born. I’m not embarrassed by that or want to rid myself of it. It’s the fabric of who we are.”

            He smiled at her, their foreheads touching, her scent arousing him. “I wish your mother was here to see this. How happy she would be.”

            “It gives me strength to think of her, of how brave she was after she realized she was pregnant.”

            “She had the morning sickness, as it appears you do. That’s how she realized it. I remember how ill she was, and I was afraid it was some disease.” He laughed at himself. “What did I know? Certainly not that her child would grow up to be the light of my life…and the mother of my child.” He chuckled and returned to his chair. “I never even considered fatherhood. What woman except that sweet child of the pit who was accustomed to ugliness would ever mate with me?”

            “You’re always unkind to yourself. Must I ask you again to stop?”

            He kissed her hand, adored her with his crinkled gaze. “You will stay here with your grandmother throughout the pregnancy, of course. She will insist upon it.”

            “Yes. You will stay, too?”

            “As much as my work allows. There is nowhere else I would rather be.”

            “You won’t be leaving soon, I hope.”

            “No, not unless it is imperative or something Barsad cannot handle in my stead.”

            “Will we tell our brothers?”

            “I don’t see any other way.”

            “Perhaps they will insist I step down,” she said hopefully.

            “Even if you are not in the field as you were, that does not diminish or nullify your birthright.”

            Talia frowned again, disappointed that he had not changed his mind about her stepping down, even with this news. Yet there was still plenty of time to sway him. The child had bought her months away from her post as Demon Head. For now, that would have to be enough.

            “Would you like to tell Barsad yourself?” Bane asked. “Or will you give me the pleasure of doing it?”

            “You may do it, but I want to be there to see the look on his face. It’ll be priceless, I’m sure.”

            “Let us have a celebratory dinner tonight with him, Yemi, and your grandmother. We shall announce it there. That is, if you think your grandmother can keep it a secret from Barsad that long.”

            “I’ll suggest she go into Jaipur for a shopping day to keep away from him. She was talking about going anyway. No doubt she has a list of baby items that she already plans to buy.”

            “And I will have to take up my hook and yarn to prepare some things for our daughter. Blankets and hats and booties, to start. You should have seen the sad little things I made for you when you were a babe.”

            “Bane, you mustn’t feel so sure about it being a girl. What man doesn’t want a son?”

            “The male of our species brings nothing but death and destruction to this world. So I prefer a girl child, one with her mother’s beauty and intellect. How could it be otherwise? She will have your traits and none of mine.”

            “Nonsense. But tell me—do you want to know its sex ahead of time?”

            “Hmm, I think I will leave that decision up to you, my love.”

            “We can talk about it later, after we’ve had time to process all this.”

            “Indeed. Now, are you sure you can’t eat something? You are, after all, eating for two, as they say.”

            Talia groaned. “I don’t want to become fat.”

            “You will not be fat. You will be beautiful, as always, no matter the shape of your belly. It will still be smaller than mine.” He winked.

            “Did Mama become fat with me?”

            “No, she carried very little extra weight. But remember, she did not have access to much food, as you do.”

            Talia frowned. “I must think of her throughout this, especially when things are difficult. I must remember what she went through for my sake.”

            “Yes, we must always remember that. And we will teach our child about her. Perhaps she could even take your mother’s name.”

            Talia laughed. “Even if it’s a boy?”

            Bane smiled. “It will be a girl.”


	16. Chapter 16

            Bane lay on his side, arms wrapped around Talia’s sleeping form, her back drawn into the curve of his half-naked body. He listened to her breathe, soft and even at last. Following breakfast, she had vomited again then retreated to their bed. To comfort her, he lay with her, stroking her hair and holding her hand.

            “You were right,” she had murmured, head pillowed on his shoulder. “I have been afraid since finding out I’m pregnant. But now that you’re back, I’m not afraid anymore. I never am when you’re near.” She kissed his mask.

            “It pleases me to hear that. You will always be safe, my love, as will your child.”

            When Talia had settled at last and drifted off, Bane lay awake, thinking of that promise. Keeping her safe prior to Gotham had been an easy enough task, for she had faced little threat due to her anonymity. But now the world knew who she was and feared that she lived still. Bane hated Miranda Tate all over again. She had brought Talia out of the shadows and placed her in this precarious position, her and now her child. _Their_ child.

            Bane still could not believe it. He was going to be a father, the father of Talia’s child. No other man had had that privilege, not any of those filthy dogs in Gotham. And she was keeping his child. She had not chosen to kill it outright before he had returned. Any other woman would have done so, considering the father. He would not allow himself to believe that love for him motivated Talia’s decision. No, it had simply been responsibility and respect, perhaps even pity for a man who could never have a normal relationship with another woman.

            Fatherhood stood before him as a daunting reality. Mixed emotions filled him and made his heart beat faster. What kind of life could he give his child? Would she fear his large size and grotesque mask, his strange voice? What would she be when she grew up? Would she flee from him, never to return? All things he might have little control over. But regardless, he would see to it that she had everything she desired, as a princess. Though Melisande and Talia had never loved him as deeply as he loved them, perhaps his daughter would. His memories of Talia as a child were some of his most cherished, so he had little doubt that he was up to the challenge of rearing another. Of course life in the pit had been much simpler. Here in the world of light there were so many hidden dangers, so many things from which he would need to protect his child.

            Protect. He had to protect her from the whole world. Even if he and Talia could not be found, what if his child was discovered? If she was here alone with Maysam while he and Talia were seeing to League business… The terrible thought of his daughter being used as a pawn froze the blood in his veins, and he unwittingly squeezed Talia closer to him, causing her to stir and mumble something before falling back to sleep.

            To ease his mind, he thought back to the days in prison when Melisande had been alive and Talia a little child. They had been like a family, and those had been some of the happiest days of his life, an odd reality, considering the life of deprivation they had lived there. After his mother’s death, he had been lost. It was then that he had committed his first murder, one of self-defense but murder nonetheless. Looking back on those dark, lonely days, he knew he would have become like all the other criminals in the pit if not for the arrival of Melisande. She had given him purpose and preserved his humanity. Then had come Talia a few months later, and Bane took on the role of husband and father, keeping his family as safe, warm, and fed as he could in that hellhole. But not safe forever. He could still hear Melisande’s screams as the other prisoners attacked her. What if he failed his own child the same way he had failed Melisande that horrible day?

            Then a thought struck him, halted his breathing with its sudden clarity. An option, a way to ensure his child’s future, and Talia’s as well. But was it a sound option? Could he place his trust in it? Instantly his mind began a thorough analysis, running through every potential scenario, looking for pitfalls and any flaws in his logic, running on and on until fatigue from his long journey finally caught up to him. His thoughts slowed, sleep eventually carried him away, the scent of his child’s mother working through the mask like relaxing lavender.

#

            Barsad slept until mid-afternoon. He awoke in his bed but had no memory of how he had gotten there from the couch. When he and Bane had arrived last night, he hadn’t closed the curtains, so now the midday sunlight flooded the space, forcing the air conditioning to work harder to cool the room. Barsad glanced at his wristwatch and moaned, surprised at how late it was. Groaning, he crawled out of bed and went to draw the curtains.

            When a knock came at the door, he expected and hoped for Sanjana, but it was Hisham who opened the door.

            “Oh, you are up, sir. Mr. Bane sent me to wake you.”

            “Why? Does he need me?”

            “No, sir.” Hisham shuffled his feet. “He just said that you should not sleep the whole day away, especially since you are all to share dinner together this evening, a bit earlier than usual. He said it is a special occasion and that you are to dress appropriately.”

            “Special?” Barsad’s hand rasped across his thin beard. “What in hell makes it special?” And what the fuck did Bane mean by _appropriately_?

            “It wasn’t my place to ask, sir.”

            Barsad grunted, dissatisfied and irritated by Bane’s practice of dictating every circumstance, including his R&R. “Where’s Sanjana?”

            “She is not feeling well today.”

            “Oh? Well, sorry to hear that. Tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

            “I will, sir. Shall I bring you some coffee?”

            “That would be great, Hisham. Thanks. Hot and black.”

            Hisham gave an indulgent bow. “As always, sir.”

            Barsad scratched his ass through his boxers and shuffled into the bathroom. He flipped up the toilet lid to urinate, grumbling about Bane’s habit of putting the lid down like some woman after using it. This made his thoughts return to Sanjana, and he grumbled even more. Damn it, he had looked forward to seeing her today. Hopefully she wasn’t too sick. Then when he saw himself in the mirror, he was thankful that it hadn’t been Sanjana who had come to his room after all. He needed a shower—a long one. The beard, however, he would let grow out a while. Better to blend in while in these parts.

            As he brushed his teeth, he wondered about Bane’s mysterious dinner invitation. What was that wheezy bastard up to now? Barsad grinned around his toothbrush then spat into the sink. Never a dull moment with the Masked Man. Maybe he was going to propose to Talia.

            Barsad laughed.

#

            He missed Sanjana again when he entered the dining room, the last to arrive for supper. Normally Sanjana was there to serve him, but Hisham attended them alone today. Barsad was pleasantly surprised, however, to see Yemi standing across the room with Maysam, Bane, and Talia. Usually the Nigerian didn’t share a place at Maysam’s table—not through any aversion of hers but simply because he wasn’t viewed as family, like he and Bane were. So the invitation must have come from Bane or Talia, and there would be a significance to it. Barsad’s curiosity grew.

            Having been unsure of exactly what dressing _appropriately_ implied, especially when Bane knew damn well they had few clothes, Barsad had combed his hair and donned a dark blue, button-down shirt, and clean khaki trousers. He found Bane dressed in a crisply pressed pair of black pants with a melon-colored dress shirt. Rarely did Bane wear anything close to fashionable—there was no need, of course, in their line of work—so whenever he was clothed this way, it jarred Barsad and slightly amused him, the latter reaction because Bane always appeared uncomfortable outside of his militaristic attire, like a child dressed formally for a recital.

            Maysam looked stunning in a camel-colored evening dress, a simple thing made elegant by the black kaftan draped over it, its neckline adorned with a subtle design in the same color as the dress. The most alluring aspect was the crisscrossing laces that connected the open front and was tied in a bow below her breasts. This simple touch somehow made a very modest dress into something Barsad found daring, as if the ties begged to be loosened so the kaftan could fall away, with the sleeveless dress to follow.

            Talia and Yemi were dressed the most casual. Unlike Bane and Barsad, Yemi had nothing but utilitarian work clothes, and had chosen shirt and pants with the fewest miles on them. Talia wore a plain ivory blouse with a strand of pearls Bane had bought her some time ago and a pair of slacks slightly darker than her grandmother’s dress.

            Maysam came toward Barsad with a warm smile. “It’s good to have you back, John. Hisham tells me you spent the day catching up on your sleep.”

            “Yeah, I’m a bit out of shape from lying around here so many months, so our little jaunt kicked my—kicked the stuffing out of me.”

            She looked particularly happy tonight, her eyes with a familiar old twinkle, one she always had when she had some gossip or secret to tell him. What was she and Bane up to? Bane had the same ready glint in his eyes as Maysam. He looked pleased as shit about something. Well, Barsad decided, it had something to do with Talia because Talia looked the least comfortable. And Yemi looked as clueless as Barsad felt.

            Once all had settled at the table with the first course before them, the wine poured, and Hisham dismissed from the room, Bane lifted his glass before his maskless face and said, “Before we begin, I would like to propose a toast.”

            “A toast?” Barsad echoed. “I’ve only been back a few hours, but I’m starting to feel like Rip Van Winkle or something, like years of shi—stuff has happened while I was sleeping. What are we toasting?”

            “I would have told you by now, brother, if you hadn’t interrupted, as usual.”

            Talia and Maysam fought away smiles of amusement, ones they often shared when Bane and Barsad verbally jousted.

            “Fine.” Barsad reached for his glass, and the others did likewise. He realized Talia held a glass of water instead of wine. “You know what’s going on, Yemi?”

            “I think I’m about to find out,” Yemi said with a probing glance at Talia.

            Talia, however, was avoiding everyone’s eyes, a slight blush blooming on her cheeks. Barsad peered closer at her, certain now that this toast had something to do with her. Yet, unlike Bane and Maysam, she looked a bit ill at ease.

            “This toast,” Bane continued, “is to celebrate some startling news I received this morning.” His attention bounced from Talia to Maysam, then to Barsad, a devilish grin coming to his ravaged mouth as he savored his lieutenant’s impatient scowl. “Maysam is to be a great-grandmother.”

            Having expected to hear Talia’s name instead, Barsad sat in stupefied silence for a moment, all glasses poised as Bane relished his lieutenant’s blank expression.

            “To the new mother,” Bane said as a grin broke out on Yemi’s face. Bane bowed to Talia then forcefully clinked his glass against Barsad’s, shaking him out of his trance. The others did likewise as Bane chuckled at his dumbstruck friend.

            “Isn’t it wonderful, John?” Maysam said. “A baby! I spent all day shopping for him.”

            “Him?” Talia said with a hint of a smile. “Bane insists it’s a girl, so I hope you didn’t buy everything in blue, _Jiddah_.”

            “A girl?” Maysam cried. “No, this will be a boy, Haris. I’m sure of it.”

            Barsad stared at Bane. It made sense now—Talia’s water glass, that cockiness in Bane’s eyes, that sharp, knowing gleam like the rooster at Barsad’s grandfather’s farm. That old bird used to strut about amongst the hens, then after fucking one of them he’d have that same bright, proud look that Bane had. _Holy shit…Bane a father_ …

            “A baby?” Barsad managed to stammer out. Talia met his gaze for only a moment, and he saw all he needed to see there. What the hell was Bane thinking? He was no more fit to be a father than Talia was to be a mother. But he couldn’t say any of this now, not in front of Maysam. No wonder Bane was announcing it here. Cagey bastard.

            “Yes, a baby.” Bane shot Maysam a sly glance. “A _daughter_.”

            Yemi raised his glass again. “Congratulations.”

            “Thank you, Yemi.” Bane’s pointed stare went to Barsad, commanding him to support Talia.

            Somehow Barsad found the strength the lift his glass toward Talia and say, “Congratulations.”

            With a touch of satisfaction over his forced sentiment, Talia thanked him.

            Usually with most shared meals, Maysam directed the conversation, making sure everyone had ample time to speak, and no one monopolized any one topic. Today, however, she carried the bulk of conversation, with Bane and Yemi handling the rest of the dialogue as course after course came and went. Hisham did his best to keep glasses filled and dishes removed when necessary, but Barsad could see he was displeased with having this responsibility fall solely to him. He was not a young man.

            Barsad was pleased to see Maysam so happy. The worry and anxiety for their health and safety over these past months had aged her and taken away some of her vitality, but now she seemed years younger and without a care. She laughed and bantered with Yemi and Bane, trying to draw Barsad and Talia into her web of good cheer. For her sake, Barsad did his best to hide his misgivings. She had done so much for them, she deserved this moment. And perhaps she was the answer to this conundrum. Already she had a nursery planned to the last detail, urging Talia to contribute to her ideas or disagree with any of her designs. Talia seemed more than willing to let Maysam have full rein, something that certainly didn’t surprise Barsad. Maybe the plan was to have Maysam raise the child.

            “How’s Amir going to react to this?” Barsad couldn’t help asking as the meal wound down to dessert. “Have you told him?”

            “No,” Maysam said with a sudden iciness. “But his reaction doesn’t matter. The baby will be of no consequence to him.”

            “You _are_ going to tell him?”

            She shrugged. “Eventually. It is nothing we can hide; that is a certainty. And there is no need. This is Melisande’s grandchild. Amir wouldn’t dare interfere. Even he will understand what it means to me.”

            _It’s Melisande’s grandchild, all right_ , Barsad thought. _But it’s also Bane’s child_. Because of that, Barsad didn’t have the same confidence Maysam tried to portray.

            He watched Bane throughout the meal, noted his increased solicitousness toward Talia—he leaned in often to speak privately with her, wearing a secretive smile, and he gently rebuked her when she absent-mindedly asked for wine, then he nearly fell out of his chair because of moving so quickly to retrieve her fallen linen. Though Talia scolded him, she seemed happy enough to lap up the attention. Barsad could almost understand Bane’s seemingly positive reaction to the baby, considering how much he loved Talia and her mother, but Talia’s reaction was another matter, and one that supported Barsad’s suspicion that this was all a ploy on her part to be able to step down as Demon Head. Barsad had a feeling Talia al Ghūl could manipulate Michelangelo’s David, if she needed to. After all, David had a cock, too.

            Dessert arrived—rice pudding topped with cinnamon and _Aish el Saraya_ topped with pistachios. Not one to usually indulge in sweets, Bane surprised Barsad by eating a hearty helping of both. Once finished, he carefully pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair with a suddenly serious expression.

            _Oh, shit, the next shoe is about to drop_ , Barsad realized. _What now?_

            “There is something else I must tell all of you,” Bane began.

            The curiosity in Talia’s eyes made Barsad wonder if she was as much in the dark as he about what was to come next.

            “In light of the news of Talia’s pregnancy,” Bane continued, “I’ve decided to accept the Americans’ offer of immunity and help apprehend _Al Thi’b_.”

            Another moment of shocked disbelief, this time from everyone at the table. Barsad recovered first.

            “What does Talia’s pregnancy have to do with that?”

            “Isn’t it obvious, brother? Our protection is the same as protecting this child. What would become of her without her parents if we were to be apprehended or killed? I am proof that being an orphan does not lead to a favorable outcome.”

            “Haris,” Maysam tsked over his self-deprecation.

            “I will demand immunity for Talia as part of the deal.”

            Talia stared at him, her shock making it obvious—and surprising—to Barsad that she wasn’t behind this part of the plan.

            “And if they don’t go for it,” Barsad said, “you’ll have exposed her for nothing.”

            “They will accept my terms.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            “How often am I wrong?”

            _I can tell you of at least one time_ , Barsad wanted to say. _And that’s getting Talia pregnant, you lovesick shithead._

            “You really want to take that chance?” Barsad turned to Maysam in search of an ally and asked her, “Do you?”

            “Eventually the intelligence community will learn of our survival,” Bane continued calmly, overlooking the concern on Maysam’s face. “Talia’s ability to raise our daughter without fear of being taken away from her is of the utmost importance, not only to me personally and to the child but to the League. Remember, brother, she is carrying an heir to the Demon. As a member of the League, you are bound to her protection as much as to Talia’s.”

            This was as close to a rebuke as Bane would come in this company, Barsad knew, and he was wise enough to back down for now. He would take this up in private later. No need to upset Maysam, who already looked anxious over this latest news.

            Yemi asked about the offer of immunity since he hadn’t been briefed about Bane’s mission to Dagestan. So as Bane brought Yemi up to speed, Barsad finished his dessert and excused himself to smoke on the veranda. He had barely lit his cigarette when Maysam appeared, standing upwind of him.

            Barsad scuffed his toe sheepishly. “I’m sorry if I piss—if I rained on the parade.”

            “You did no such thing, John. You’re concerned and surprised. Your reaction is understandable.”

            “You didn’t know about the immunity offer?”

            “Talia told me it had been offered to Bane but that he had rejected it.” Maysam drew closer, out of sight of those inside the dining room. “You are afraid it’s a trap, aren’t you?”

            “Yeah, among other concerns.”

            “You are displeased about the baby.”

            “I’m displeased Bane is thinking more with his cock than his brain. It’s always been that way when Talia’s involved.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, Maysam, but you know my relationship with Talia is a lot different than Bane’s, personally and professionally.”

            “There is nothing to be sorry about, John. Your role is a valuable one, as friend and advisor. Unfortunately, it puts you in the middle all too often. I admire you for your ability to balance things. But the baby is a reality you must accept.”

            “I accept it. It doesn’t mean I like it, though. It’s a complication, a potentially dangerous one in more ways than one.”

            “It was not an easy discovery for Talia to make or accept. I hope you realize that. She’s having the child more for my sake than anyone else’s, I suspect.”

            “You’re preparing a nursery; are you expecting the baby to live here?”

            “Where else would he live? Not in that glorified cave in Saudi Arabia, and Bane and Talia can’t exactly buy a chateau in France. And I certainly won’t allow my granddaughter to take him into those frozen mountains where she lived with her father.”

            Barsad chuckled. “Sounds like you have everything planned out. Ever consider they might have different plans?”

            “I’ve already discussed it with them. If they remain in command of the League, this is the safest place for the child, and they have access whenever they want to come. Of course, Talia will remain here at least until the child is weaned. I’m hoping, though, that she will stay permanently.”

            “And if they’re granted immunity? They could move about freely, at least until Bane tries to take down another city.” He grinned.

            Maysam frowned. “Then it will be up to them where the child lives.”

            “You could always go with the kid, you know. Talia’s never liked you living here with Amir and more or less alone. Also, those two aren’t going to be parents of the year anytime soon; the kid will need someone like you.”

            She looked at him sidelong, wisely. “You mean _you_ never liked me living here with Amir.”

            “That, too.”

            “Well, there you go, John. You just gave yourself a reason for wanting this baby. It might take me away from here.”

            He laughed, amazed at how she could always so easily defuse him. “Well, it’s still a mistake for those two to be reproducing together.”

            “How can you say that? They are two of the most intelligent people we know.”

            “Not so sure after this.” He crushed the cigarette in a tray on a nearby table.

            “John.” She touched his arm. “This baby is not a mistake. No one will ever love Talia more than Bane, so what better father could there be for her child? Look at him. He’s so proud.”

            “Don’t let his vanity fool you, Maysam. That big ape has no idea how unprepared he is for this.”

            “Then we must help him, yes?” She smiled hopefully.

            “We? I don’t know any more than he does about parenthood.”

            “But I do. And you love him as I do. You’ll be like an uncle to his child.”

            Barsad raised a fending hand. “Don’t get carried away, Maysam.”

            Her smile broadened, and she leaned close, whispered, “You’ll see.”


	17. Chapter 17

            Bane heard the distant shower shut off. He smiled in anticipation of seeing Talia, smelling her fresh and clean. A moment later came the faint whir of a hair dryer. He sighed and continued with his work.

            He sat on the loveseat, crochet hook in hand and yarn in his lap, candles and the muted television providing light. His hands worked smoothly, rhythmically with the craft Melisande had taught him so long ago, one that had helped keep him sane in prison and calm during long missions with the League. It had been an eventful day, and starting this baby blanket helped ease everything away and allowed his mind to settle.

            After dinner, he had managed to avoid Barsad, retreating to his suite. He had seen the displeasure and unrest on his lieutenant’s face at the dinner table but was not prepared yet to confront that storm. Instead he wanted a peaceful evening with the mother of his child. He had just gotten off a conference call with his regional commanders to discuss the capture or killing of _Al Thi’b_ , initiating a series of operations that would hopefully be swift and fruitful. Their asset inside _Al Thi’b’s_ network would be invaluable.

            Prior to that phone call, Bane had contacted Ingold with orders to reach out to Khasanov and his CIA handlers. Once Bane’s terms were relayed and accepted, he would have the immunity document reviewed by the League’s legal counsel.

            Talia glided into the room, smelling of jasmine. She wore a short, black chemise with lace bodice and double-layered chiffon skirt that floated about her thighs as she moved. Bane tried not to look at her long for fear of tossing aside his yarn and taking her right there on the couch, something he would have done if not for her pregnancy. The news had left him hesitant about resuming sexual relations, unsure how she would feel with the mysterious new cocktail of hormones flowing through her. Perhaps she would resent him for impregnating her.

            She stopped behind him as he continued his crocheting, then she draped her arms around his neck to embrace him. Her cheek pressed against the side of his mask.

            “What are you making, _habibi_?”

            “A blanket for our child.”

            “Hmm. Both pink _and_ blue yarn. Very pragmatic.”

            He smiled to himself. “Just in case your grandmother is correct.” He reached the end of a row of single stitches and turned his work. “When the birth comes, we will wrap her in your mother’s blanket first.”

            “Yes.” Talia watched his fingers move for a long moment before saying, “What would Papa say if he were here?”

            “He would be displeased that I am the father of your child.”

            “You are thinking of the old Rā’s al Ghūl, _habibi_. If he were alive today and saw all that you’ve done for me and the League, he would not think of you the way he did when he excommunicated you.”

            “I’m not so sure about that, _habibati_. But I am sure he would be pleased to know Melisande will have a grandchild.”

            “He would want a boy, someone he could mold to be like him. He was disappointed that his own child was a girl.”

            “Nonsense, little mouse. He was proud of you, especially because you were a girl child, one who made him proud every day you trained, right alongside male warriors. He knew you would one day outshine them all, just as our child will.”

            Talia’s hands slid down his bare torso. “You are too good to me, Bane. And your idea for immunity for the both of us is a bold move.”

            “You aren’t afraid of being exposed?”

            “It’s a risk but a necessary one for the child, as you said. Barsad obviously has his concerns.”

            Bane grinned. “The look on his face when I announced your pregnancy was something I wish I could have captured on camera. It was priceless.”

            “He thinks I tricked you into all this.”

            “Do not jump to conclusions, Talia.”

            “Be honest, Bane. You saw what I saw.”

            “Perhaps.”

            “And that’s why you haven’t spoken to him privately.”

            “Tomorrow.”

            “Tomorrow,” she scoffed in jest, kissing the mask again. “You think he’ll have cooled down by then.”

            “I doubt that.”

            She chuckled. “The only thing the Masked Man fears in the world—a pissed off Deadshot.”

            “It is not fear, my flower; it is merely annoyance. You know how he can prattle on endlessly like an agitated hen.”

            “It’s his job to worry about you.”

            “He does it too well.”

            Talia chuckled again. “And I love him for it.” Her hands reached his, halting his work. “Now,” she said in a sultry voice, “why don’t we go to bed early tonight.”

            “Are you tired already, my love?”

            “No.” She slipped the crochet hook from his grip and freed the yarn from it. “Soon my body will be hideous to look upon, so you should enjoy it while it still appeals to you.”

            “You are speaking foolishness, _habibati_. You could never be anything but beautiful.”

            Talia had taken up his yarn and began to leisurely wrap it around his wrists, binding his hands together in his lap. He raised a curious eyebrow, and the arousal that had stirred at the first sight of her entering the room increased tenfold.

            “Am I to be your prisoner?” Bane asked.

            “Yes,” she whispered, sending gooseflesh popping along his arms.

            “Do you not realize I have always been your prisoner?”

            She purred with satisfaction and finished with his colorful shackles, then she trailed the yarn between his bulging pectorals, up to sensually wind it around his thick neck. How she loved his neck, the way it met his strong jaw and sloping shoulders, the subtle wrinkles like a powerful snapping turtle. She kissed him there as she finished several revolutions with the yarn, now and then glancing with approval at the growing erection in his linen pants.

            Talia slipped around the loveseat as he watched her every move with laser intensity. Raging animal lust roiled in his darkening eyes, stirring her own desires. With Bane’s small pair of scissors, Talia snipped the yarn that led to the blanket’s beginnings then did the same near the skein. Then she smiled invitingly and tugged on the yarn leading to his pink and blue collar. He gave a small, wanton growl and allowed her to lead him across the room. Glancing now and then over her shoulder at him, she was obviously enjoying her game.

            Once seated on the bed with Bane standing before her, she eyed him up and down like a buyer at a slave market.

            “As my prisoner, you must obey me.”

            “And what is your command?”

            “Remove your clothing and kneel before me.”

            Talia expected hesitation on his part. Their lovemaking in the past had never included role play. She also limited any type of domination on her part between the sheets. She knew the depth of his male pride as well as the deep scars he bore from twenty-five years of helpless captivity in the pit. To be a prisoner, even fictitiously, might very well repulse and anger him.

            “Soon,” Bane rumbled, “I will turn these tables, and you will be my prisoner.”

            “Bold words for a captive.”

            He grinned with devilish cunning in his eyes and freed his drawstring pants. He wore no underwear, his erection breathtaking. Talia smiled in triumph as he slowly sank to his knees, never taking his gaze from hers. Her perfectly pedicured foot slid along his tree-trunk-like thigh, up and up until she touched his manhood, then down beneath his swollen testicles. Her toes teased him there, lighting a fire in his eyes.

            “Shall I torture you a while?” Talia smirked.

            “I am at your mercy.” He started to lift his bound hands to her calf, but she tugged on the yarn at his neck.

            “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”

            “Then you torture me already.”

            She grinned, continuing to gently probe him there. “Let’s see how long you last before you succumb.”

            “Perhaps you shall succumb first.”

            “We shall see, won’t we?”

            Taking into account how wet and primed she was herself, Talia would not allow herself to claim victory before it was hers. She considered injecting him with his bridge of morphine so the mask could be removed, but she was too eager to continue with their game uninterrupted.

            When Talia finished toying with his genitals, she licked her lips and slowly pulled her chemise over her head. Bane’s hungry eyes devoured the sight of her breasts as he imagined them swelling with milk in the future. From boyhood, he remembered his embarrassing fascination with secretly watching Melisande breastfeed Talia. He had never seen a woman’s breasts before then. His mother had always turned away when she undressed to wash; not that he would have looked anyway, for he would have been mortified, though not fully understanding why at the time. Now there was no reason to turn away from the sight of Talia’s erect nipples and perfectly formed breasts. These were his to enjoy, his and no longer anyone else’s. The stain of men like Bruce Wayne was gone.

            Talia lifted the hand that held his yarn leash. “On the bed,” she ordered.

            “As you wish, my queen.”

            “Lie on your back.”

            Once he was settled, Talia pulled his bound hands over his head and tied them to the headboard. She then straddled him, her hot wetness against his skin stoking his passion, her scent rising to him like perfume, reminding him of the taste of her, causing him to salivate.

            “You will break,” she whispered as she began to caress him and kiss the mask’s grating.

            Bane opened his mouth, as if he were free of the apparatus, in his imagination joining their mouths as he closed his eyes. Torturously and with maddening leisure, she worked her way down his body—kissing, biting, teasing, caressing every inch of him until he was drenched in sweat and trembling with desperate need, fighting against his body’s struggle for release. Rushing blood flow lit every nerve ending. When Talia’s lips and tongue began to play with the dripping head of his penis, his back arched and he groaned. His fingers twitched, and his legs clasped her in an embrace, encouraging her to stay right where she was. His calf against her firm buttocks pressed her forward against him.

            “Patience,” she whispered before closing her lips upon him again, her tongue swirling.

            But he could wait no longer. Game be damned, he would have her. As wildly exciting as her oral skills were, he wanted only one thing right now—to plunge deep within her.

            The yarn shackles gave way with one flex of his wrists. Before he could explode in her mouth, he took hold of Talia’s arms and shifted his weight with lightning speed, throwing her on her back with him now atop her. She gasped but did not resist. Bane spread her legs without hesitation, found her swollen and open to him, drenching him as he thrust into her. They both moaned. His left hand snaked beneath her buttocks, lifted her slightly to improve his angle. His other hand kneaded her breast, enjoying what his mouth could not. His hips moved, quick and short. No time. She had already brought him too close and herself as well. Talia’s nails dug into him and she cried out as they came.

            Afterwards, lying against him, Talia smiled teasingly and murmured, “My prisoner withstood so little.”

            Bane raised up on one elbow to enjoy the sweaty glow of her face. He considered her with a mischievous smile of his own before straddling her. His penis wept their mingled juices upon her belly, his testicles brushing lightly against her as he moved slightly back and forth. The smile turned into a wolfish grin as his hands moved along her arms, down to her wrists. Taking them in one big paw, he raised them above her head, pinned them against the pillows. His face hovered close to hers.

            “But who is on top now, my queen? And I will show no mercy.”

#

            Moving mechanically, Sanjana laid out Maysam’s clothes for the day. Soon her mistress would emerge from her morning shower. Sanjana dreaded seeing her…or anyone. Since the rape, she had remained in her room, alone, speaking only to Hisham, and that through her door yesterday, saying only that she did not feel well. She had heard the displeasure in his voice. He had taken a risk getting her work at the palace, and if she disappointed their mistress, he feared ramifications for them both.

            She had spent yesterday in bed, curled up in the darkness, under her blanket, alternating between tears and anger. Her whole body ached, even today, two days later, every protesting muscle reminding her of the terror. Since the rape, she had considered her options and found only one way to keep herself and her family safe.

            Thinking of that decision now and how she would present it to her mistress, Sanjana could not help but think of Barsad. Her desire to see him was outweighed only by her dread of seeing him. Though she had stood in front of the bathroom mirror this morning and practiced smiling and hiding her trauma, she knew if she faced Barsad, all that preparation would fail her. He was a man trained to read people, and no doubt he would read her like a book and ask questions. Even if the questions were benign, Sanjana feared the floodgates would open once she saw his beautiful blue eyes, eyes that would darken and close to her if he knew her shame. Or, worse, he would seek retribution against Amir should she reveal her nightmare. That would prove disastrous for more than just herself and her family.

            Perhaps, though, she was wrong about Barsad, Sanjana considered as she smoothed the bedspread near Maysam’s pillows. He was, after all, a man. What did he care what another man did to a mere servant, one who had already been sullied? She was nothing to him, nothing but a way to while away boredom in the evenings.

            Maysam emerged from the bathroom in a flowing, white silk robe, her long hair loose and damp. “Good morning, Sanjana.”

            “Good morning, Madam.” Sanjana pretended to be distracted by straightening the bedspread. “I have poured your tea and laid out the clothes you wanted.”

            “Thank you. You are feeling well this morning?”

            “Well enough, Madam. Thank you for asking.”

            Maysam settled in a loveseat near the window and took her cup of tea from the service before her. She curled her legs up on the furniture and relaxed with a sigh.

            Sanjana fidgeted near the bed, heart racing, hands clammy. “Will you be having your breakfast here, Madam, or in the dining room?”

            “In the dining room with Mr. Barsad. And since he will no doubt be sleeping in a bit, I will have something light to tide me over.”

            “Very well, Madam. I will see to it.” But still Sanjana remained next to the bed, torn by her need to speak and her desire to flee.

            Maysam glanced over her shoulder before picking up the newspaper. “What is it, Sanjana?”

            “Oh. Well…” She took a step closer. “There’s…there’s something I must speak with you about, Madam. But if you prefer I wait until later—”

            “What is it?” Maysam did not look up from the paper.

            “Well, it’s…it’s about my position here.”

            “What is it?” Surely the girl was not going to ask for a raise, Maysam thought.

            “You see, Madam,” Sanjana took another hesitant step forward before continuing with her fabrication, “I received a letter yesterday from my father. My mother is very sick. She cannot take care of my siblings. He wants me to come home.”

            The newspaper came down, and Maysam turned to her. “You wish to terminate your employment?”

            “I don’t want to, Madam, but I must. My family needs me.”

            Displeasure lowered Maysam’s sculpted eyebrows. “That is unfortunate, Sanjana. But what you ask is impossible.”

            Sanjana wilted. “Impossible, Madam? Why?”

            “I am surprised you need to ask. Surely you aren’t that naïve.”

            “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” Panic tried to strangle her voice.

            “Have you forgotten who my guests are?”

            “No, Madam. But I would never say anything to anyone about them. You have my word.”

            “I’m afraid that isn’t good enough, child.” She studied Sanjana for a moment of silence before continuing, “When you went to fetch the pregnancy kit for my granddaughter the other day, why do you think you were accompanied by a man from my brother-in-law’s guards as well as one of Bane’s men?”

            Taken aback by the question, Sanjana stammered, “I know my master has many enemies. It was to safeguard me from being kidnapped and used for information about this household.”

            Maysam smiled indulgently. “Those men weren’t for your protection, Sanjana. They were for our protection.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “They were there to ensure that you did not interact with anyone besides the merchant you bought the item from. And they were there to make sure you entertained no thoughts of going elsewhere before or after completing your errand for me.”

            Sanjana stared at her, both insulted and afraid. “I never would have done those things, Madam. I know my place, and I am grateful for what you have done for me. I would never jeopardize my position here. But my family needs me now—”

            “I am sorry for your family’s troubles, but I cannot allow you to quit this household. For better or worse, this is your home now.”

            Despair flooded through Sanjana. This could not be. She could not stay here, not with the thought of Amir returning to her room again the next time Barsad left, and not with the thought of Barsad or anyone else learning her shameful secret.

            “Please, Madam—”

            “There is nothing more to discuss. I’m sorry, but you must understand. If the world were to discover my granddaughter here, it would bring not only ruin to her and Barsad and Bane, but to this house as well. If that were to happen, my brother-in-law would see to your end in a most unpleasant manner and no doubt your family as well. Now, please see to my breakfast.” She raised the newspaper back up to read.

            The chill behind Maysam’s slight snap of the paper made Sanjana realize her ploy had no chance of success. She was trapped here, a prisoner behind those tall stone walls that encircled the palace compound. For an instant she considered telling her mistress what Amir had done, but how could she speak to Maysam of her own kin by marriage without insulting or angering her? Maysam might choose not to believe her out of fear of Amir. Even if she had sympathy for her servant and believed her, she probably would not dare to confront her brother-in-law. She would not take such a risk for a mere Hindu serving girl.

            Fearful that Maysam would see the tears welling in her eyes, Sanjana quickly fled the suite.


	18. Chapter 18

            Barsad awoke to the scent of coffee. Thinking of who would have delivered it, he became instantly alert and lifted his head from the pillow. He frowned. The room was empty. The coffee service, however, awaited him across the room near the sofa. Sitting up, he looked toward the bathroom but found it dark. Damn it, he had missed her. Why hadn’t he heard her come in like he usually did? And often when she was here in the morning, she puttered about long enough for him to awaken and share some pleasantries. After being gone so many days, he had expected her to want to see him. _Well, Barsad, there’s a kick to the ol’ balls_ , he thought as he crawled out of bed and shuffled toward the coffee table.

            He took his time enjoying a fresh cup as he watched the morning news on television, then smoked a couple of cigarettes on the veranda. All the while he kept his ears attuned to the door should Sanjana return to make his bed. But finally he gave up waiting and took a shower. When he emerged from the bathroom there was still no sign of her. He consoled himself with hopes of seeing her when she served breakfast.

            Arriving on the dining room veranda, he found breakfast on the table, and Maysam awaiting him with a smile. Sanjana was already gone. He began to wonder if she was avoiding him.

            During their meal, Barsad did his best not to share any more of his misgivings about Talia’s pregnancy. Instead he enjoyed soaking in Maysam’s continued happiness about the situation and about the possibility of Talia and Bane acquiring immunity for their crimes in Gotham.

            “Haris should have included you in the agreement,” Maysam said with a small pout.

            Barsad shrugged. “He probably figured he’s already pushing his luck asking for Talia to be included. Besides, I’m not worried about it. I’m a small fish compared to those two.”

            “Nonsense. You are Haris’s right hand, and the world knows it. There you were throughout the siege of Gotham, right beside him, flawlessly carrying out his orders. They couldn’t have succeeded without you.”

            Barsad laughed. “The League has a lot of capable men, Maysam.”

            “But they are not you.” She brandished her butter knife with a teasing look. “Now don’t argue with me. I shall talk to Haris about it.”

            “No, you won’t. I don’t need him thinking I whined to you about it. I’ll fight my own battles, if they’re worth it, but this one doesn’t concern me. Let it go.”

            Maysam frowned. “I wish you were all out of this. Safe and free to start new lives, happier lives. I want my great-grandchild to know you personally, John, not just through stories from Haris while you rot away in some American prison.”

            “Don’t be dramatic, Maysam. I’m not going to prison.” He gave her a confident grin.

            “It gives me nightmares to think of it.”

            “Then don’t. It’s not going to happen.” He let the subject drift away as he drank his coffee, then started anew, “Is Sanjana still sick?”

            “No, she has resumed her duties.” Maysam bristled slightly. “Did she not bring coffee to your room this morning?”

            “Someone did. It was there when I woke up. I expected to see her before I came here but I didn’t.”

            Maysam wiped her mouth with a crisp white linen. “The girl is distracted by a family matter.”

            “What is it?”

            She smiled indulgently. “Are you asking me to share private information again without her permission, John?”

            He hesitated.

            “She will tell you, if she sees fit, not I. But let me remind you that she is a servant of this household. Any decisions relating to her employment are mine alone.”

            “Well, that sounds ominous,” Barsad said, grinning to keep the subject light, though Maysam’s words deepened his curiosity. “I respect your decision to maintain Sanjana’s privacy. I’m just glad to hear she’s feeling better.”

            The harshness drifted away from Maysam’s face. “I admit I’m surprised you haven’t taken her into your bed yet, John.” She arched an eyebrow. “Or have you?”

            “I told you how I felt when you first started this, Maysam. That hasn’t changed.”

            “Of course it has. Look how much time you’ve spent with her.”

            “Tutoring her in English isn’t exactly foreplay or romance, Maysam.”

            “It could be.” Now it was her turn to grin.

            “I sat next to her on the sofa one time while I was teaching her, and she moved away.”

            “Yet she comes to you nearly every evening.”

            “To learn.”

            “Don’t be naïve, John. I know you better than that.”

            “Can we change the subject? You know I don’t feel right talking about this with you, not with our history.”

            Maysam waved a dismissing hand and tsked. “Ancient history, John. You owe me nothing.”

            “Still, let’s talk about something else.”

            Slyly, she regarded him for a long moment before complying.

#

            Barsad caught Hisham just before he entered Bane and Talia’s suite, carrying a tea service.

            “Is Bane in the gym, Hisham?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Barsad inwardly smiled with satisfaction. If Bane was anything, he was devoted to schedule. Barsad had been banking on this when he came to the suite.

            “Is Talia awake?”

            “Yes, sir. I was just bringing her some fresh tea.” Hisham’s tone was a bit abrupt, making it obvious he did not want to displease Talia by lacking punctuality.

            “Is she still in bed?”

            “No, sir. She awaits me on the veranda.”

            “Great.” Barsad took the service from him.

            “Sir?”

            “I’ll take this to her.”

            “But, sir—”

            “No worries, Hisham, just open the damn door please.”

            The servant frowned. “Very well, sir.”

            Barsad found Talia stretched out on a lounge chair in the shade of the veranda, staring contemplatively over the compound. She wore a silk robe that was only loosely tied, one long, shapely leg almost entirely revealed. Barsad suspected she was naked beneath it.

            “Ginger tea, I presume,” Barsad announced. “I understand you’ve become quite an enthusiast these past few days.”

            “Barsad,” she said in surprise and without any true pleasure; she probably knew what was coming. “Has Bane assigned you new duties as tea bearer?”

            “Not yet. I thought I’d give Hisham a hand, seeing how he has quite a job of work ahead of him straightening your bedroom. I won’t ask what the hell you two were doing last night.”

            Talia smiled proudly. “A wise decision coming from a man who isn’t always so wise in his choice of topic.”

            Barsad set the tray on a small table beside her then took up a chair nearby. “I’ve never claimed to be wise, Talia, only loyal.”

            “And often a pain in the ass.”

            “That, too.” He poured her a cup of tea and handed it to her. “How are you feeling? Morning sickness today?”

            “A little. These past days have been unpleasant, to say the least. Hopefully it will pass soon.”

            “No doubt not soon enough.”

            “True.” She sipped the tea and watched him over the edge of the cup. “I know why you’re here, perfectly timed while Bane is away.”

            Barsad shrugged one shoulder.

            Talia’s eyes narrowed as she took another sip before saying, “You’re wrong, you know.”

            “About?”

            “You think this pregnancy was calculated on my part.”

            “Most everything you do is calculated, sister.”

            “As I said, you’re wrong.”

            “Not sure you’ll convince me of that.”

            “I won’t waste my time trying. You may believe what you wish, but I’m telling you this was the farthest thing from what I want.”

            “Then why didn’t you get rid of it before Bane found out?”

            “I considered it, but _Jiddah_ found out about it the same time I did. She insisted I tell Bane and let him be a part of the decision. It was the right thing to do, of course.”

            “So you’re telling me keeping it is his idea.” Barsad raised a skeptical eyebrow.

            “Ending it was never a consideration for him. Like _Jiddah_ , he thinks about my mother in this. And you know how he feels about me. If I ever leave him again, he’ll have this child at least.”

            “ _If_ you leave him? You mean when.”

            Some of her self-righteousness faded, and she looked away from him. “You think I hurt him on purpose.”

            “It’s one method of control. Like an abusive spouse.”

            Talia’s gaze shot back to him, blazing blue shards of ice. “How dare you?”

            “Don’t act so shocked, Talia. You know how I feel about your relationship with him. It’s both the best and the worst thing for him. Unfortunately, this baby is one of those worst things.”

            “You could be wrong about that as well. In case you didn’t notice at dinner last night, he was very happy.”

            “He’s just acting like a proud stud that’s covered its first mare. Reality hasn’t set in yet.”

            “No one is more realistic than Bane.”

            “So says the woman who leads him on a fantasy.”

            “You’re behaving like a jealous little brother, Barsad. It’s quite unbecoming.”

            “My job is to protect him. That’s what I’m doing.”

            “So what do you propose? That I have an abortion against his will and my grandmother’s?”

            “No, we both know he’d never let that happen. And I wouldn’t want Maysam hurt in all this either.”

            “She would be pissed at you if she knew what you’re doing right now.”

            “Maybe. But she’s a smart woman—she’s not blind to what you’re capable of.”

            “And what is that, Barsad?”

            “You’re manipulating Bane again, this time with this kid. He’ll be more willing to let you step down as Demon Head.”

            “If that’s an offshoot of having his child, then so be it. But, as I said, that’s not what’s behind this baby.”

            “Then what is? Don’t tell me it’s love.”

            “I do love him. You know that. But the child is merely a mistake…bad timing. I take responsibility for my lapse in birth control.”

            “There’s a reason for the League’s rules against marriage, and children are one of them. It’s a distraction, potentially a deadly one. And loved ones can be used against us, against the League. What you’ve done is an insult to your oath. You could undermine not only your own standing in the League but Bane’s as well. You’ve put yourself above our code.”

            “Bane and I are not married, Barsad. We’ve broken no vow to the League.”

            “Our brothers might not look at it that way. This could cause a breakdown in our ranks. They’ll see you bending the rules to your own whims, and they’ll feel disrespected. And maybe they’ll think they can do the same.”

            “Then they don’t have to know.”

            “Deceiving them won’t help your cause. Someone will find out, sooner or later. The child is Rā’s al Ghūl’s heir, after all. One day he or she will be taking your place.”

            “They wouldn’t have to.”

            “Bane will see to it. What better way to get his revenge for Rā’s excommunicating him than for his own child to one day sit in Rā’s’ place?”

            “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, I can change his mind.”

            “Oh? Just like you’ve changed his mind about you stepping down?”

            “Obviously you don’t know Bane as well as you think.”

            “We’ll see. In the meantime, I’ll have to keep trying to talk sense into him. It was hard enough when it came to you, now he’ll have a kid to cloud his judgement.”

            “I’m surprised you have such little faith in him.”

            “Faith has nothing to do with it. His cock does.”

            “So you think sex is all I need to bend him to my will?”

            “Works with most men.”

            “Bane is not most men.”

            “In this situation, he is.”

            She sighed in frustration and set her tea cup down. “What do you want from me, Barsad? Why did you come here this morning? Just to make me feel like a criminal? To make a difficult situation even more difficult?”

            “I wanted to be able to talk frankly with you. I can’t do that in front of your grandmother or Bane.”

            “Well, now you have. But you refuse to believe anything I say, so will you leave me in peace?” She gave a haughty lift of her chin.

            With a sigh of his own, Barsad stood, eager for a cigarette. He paused in the doorway and turned back to her. “Was it your idea to be included in the immunity deal?”

            Anger darkened her cheeks. “Of course not. I was as surprised to hear of it as you were. I don’t give a shit about immunity. I’ve told Bane as much, but he’s determined now because of the baby. But why am I telling you this? You won’t believe me about this either.”

            For the first time Barsad saw a faint glimmer of hurt in her eyes, and it tempered his mood. “I believe you.”

            She settled back in her chair, regarded him coolly and nodded. “Thank you.”

            He bowed slightly in acknowledgment before leaving.

#

            Barsad had always enjoyed a daily run whenever his work allowed it, but concerns about surveillance drones eliminated outdoor exercise except at night. With winter approaching, however, the days were shorter, so he was able to take up running throughout the compound before supper. The opportunity could not have come sooner, for being cooped up at the palace all these months had been wearing on him for some time. Today, after his conversation with Talia in the morning and his avoidance of Bane until supper, he needed the physical release.

            Even this late in the year, the Thar Desert’s breath still blew hotly across the compound, so he returned to his small suite dusty and sweaty, eager for a shower. When he emerged, he dressed in clothes washed and delivered to his room earlier in the day while he had been working out in the gym. He had smelled Sanjana on the clothing but had yet to see the young woman. At least he knew he would see her while she served supper. The thought of at last seeing her brought a smile to his bearded face. Gone were the days when Maysam wouldn’t allow her to serve while Bane was at table, maskless; Bane had dismissed Maysam’s concern for his vanity some time back, and Barsad was heartily glad.

            He was the last to arrive in the dining room, finding Bane, Talia, and Maysam chatting at the table and sipping wine. Hisham stood several paces behind Bane and Talia, ready to serve them when required. On the opposite side of the table, Sanjana stood behind her mistress’s chair, eyes slightly lowered. She did not even raise her head when Barsad wished her good evening before he sat next to Maysam. Sanjana merely replied, “Good evening, sir.” He was beginning to wonder if she were angry with him, but if so he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. Inwardly, he shrugged. Wouldn’t be the first time a woman was mad at him for something he couldn’t remember.

            Talia seemed unaffected by their strained morning discussion, treating him as if they had never talked. Barsad wondered if she had shared their conversation with Bane. He assumed she hadn’t, judging by Bane’s good mood throughout the meal.

            As always when Maysam was present, Barsad did his best not to engage Sanjana outside of her duties. But he did try to catch her eye whenever she came to the table to refill a wine glass or remove a dish. Artfully she avoided contact. Seeing her up close, though, he began to feel less and less as if she were pissed at him. There was a pervasive sadness about her, and her face lacked some of its youthful high color. He grew confident that her mood stemmed strictly from her family troubles. Perhaps, he considered, he could help her.

            When the meal was over, Bane drew him aside and said, “I did not wish to bore Maysam with League business over dinner, brother. Perhaps we can meet later this evening in your suite. That is, unless you are entertaining company.”

            Barsad ignored the mischievous glint in Bane’s eyes. “Anytime.”

            “It seems you have been avoiding me since you heard the news of Talia’s pregnancy.”

            Conjuring a grin, Barsad said, “Who says I need a reason to avoid you?”

#

            Barsad sat, smoking, on the veranda, sipping brandy from a tumbler. The desert winds had calmed, and stars populated the black sky with infinite pricks of light. In Gotham, he had never been able to see so many stars, even on the clearest of nights. Too many lights, too much pollution. But here…it reminded him of boyhood nights in West Virginia when he and his brother would stay outside, lying in the grass or in a hammock until their mother called them inside. They would see who could identify the most constellations the quickest. His brother always won.

            A faint knock reached his ears only because he had been listening for it. Crushing out his cigarette, he quickly went inside, calling, “Come in.”

            A strange pause before the door opened to reveal Sanjana. She met his gaze only for an instant.

            “Good evening,” she said, entering with a small tray.

            “Good evening, Sanjana.” He smiled at the sight of her…finally. “What have you brought me tonight?” His evening snack was always a surprise.

            “Khara boondi.” She glided over to the coffee table and placed the tray with the boondi there. Then she moved to turn down his bed, as she did every night.

            Barsad studied her, saw the same tension that he had witnessed at supper, unhappy with the seriousness of her expression and her reticence. Still watching her, he settled on the sofa and set aside his tumbler. Absently, he ate some of the fried chickpea snack.

            “Delicious,” he announced.

            “I will tell the cook you approve.”

            “No need. The kitchen knows by now that I eat anything.” In an attempt to draw a smile from her, he chuckled but she continued with her work unaffected. He frowned. “Hey, listen, I hope you don’t mind me prying, but I understand you’re having some family troubles.”

            Sanjana stiffened, pausing in her work, but still she would not look at him. Her movements with her work quickened, and he could tell she planned on flying from the room as soon as her duties were finished.

            “It is nothing,” she said.

            “Judging from your behavior today, I think it is. You’re clearly not yourself. You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to, but maybe I can help.”

            “No, it is nothing.”

            “You spoke to Maysam about it, though. You know I could just ask her.” Of course Maysam probably still wouldn’t tell him, but he wasn’t about to let Sanjana know that.

            Finally she glanced at him as she made her way to the other side of the large bed to fluff his pillows. “Please, sir—”

            “Sir?” His eyebrows shot up.

            “J—John.” Her eyelashes fluttered in consternation. “Please don’t bother Madam with this. I shouldn’t have told her.”

            “What did you tell her?” He wiped the crumbs from his mouth and approached her.

            Sanjana quickly beat the pillow, set it back down and started to step away. Barsad stopped between her and the door, keeping a benign distance between them. He noticed her hands were shaking, and sweat shined upon her brow.

            “Hey,” he soothed. “Let me help.”

            “There’s no need, John.”

            “Well, if it’s not something serious, then why won’t you tell me?”

            “I’m just a servant. I don’t want to bother you with my—”

            “You’re my friend. Or at least I thought so. But you’re acting like I’m a stranger…or the enemy.”

            She frowned. “I’m sorry. That isn’t my intention.”

            Barsad took another step closer. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

            Sanjana fidgeted with her hands. Slim, graceful brown hands. Barsad wondered what they would feel like against his skin, especially around his…

            “My mother is ill,” Sanjana interrupted his wandering thoughts. “My father wants me to return home to care for her and my siblings. He cannot stay home from work.”

            “Have you asked Maysam for some time off?”

            “She says it’s impossible because of security reasons.”

            Reality dawned on Barsad. “My security,” he said.

            “All of you. But I promised her I would never breathe a word to anyone.”

            “How ill is your mother? Is it serious?”

            “I’m not sure. Father wouldn’t tell me. Maybe he doesn’t want me to worry.”

            Barsad sensed something off in her story, and he didn’t like the way she still mainly avoided his gaze. Would a father who had disavowed his daughter because of her failed betrothal really be interested in having her back, even if it was to do him a service? “Let me talk to Maysam for you.”

            “Oh, no, please don’t. I don’t want her thinking I spoke to you on purpose to go against her. It will only cause trouble, for me and Hisham. He warned me—”

            “Sure, she won’t let you go there for long, but one of my men could take you home for a visit at least, to see how your mother actually is.”

            “No, no, no. Please don’t say anything, John.”

            He studied her, disturbed by her overt fear. “I feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me, Sanjana. You can be honest with me. If it’s something you don’t want Maysam to know, I’ll keep it to myself.”

            Sanjana nervously licked her lips and shifted her weight. She needed to get out of here, or at the very least deflect the conversation. She had already said far too much, and she hated lying to him. But what choice did she have with Barsad standing right in front of her, so close, so invested, someone who truly seemed concerned with her well-being?

            “There _is_ something else,” Sanjana finally said, hoping the next half-truth would redirect him.

            “What?”

            “Your voice recorder, the one you loaned to me.”

            “What about it?”

            “I—I’ve lost it.”

            His brow smoothed, and he smiled. “Is that all?”

            “I’m so sorry. I can’t find it anywhere.”

            Barsad chuckled, and she looked up to enjoy the crinkle of his eyes, the flash of his teeth. She hated herself for deceiving him.

            “Don’t worry about it, Sanjana. It’s nothing I can’t easily replace, which I will. I only got it because of your lessons.” He raised his eyebrows in question, with the crafty half smile Sanjana loved. “We are going to continue them, aren’t we?”

            “I—I—yes,” she said without conviction. “Yes, of course. Just—just not tonight, though. I’m still tired from my illness.”

            “Sure, no problem.”

            A knock on the door surged relief through Sanjana, and she hurried past Barsad to answer it. She found Bane in the hallway. His eyes narrowed with interest and curiosity, then looked beyond to his lieutenant.

            “Good evening, Sanjana.”

            “Good evening, sir. If you will excuse me, I was just leaving.”

            “Are you sure? I can come back later, of course.” An incongruous twinkle in his dark gaze.

            Sanjana blushed. “No, sir. I must see to Madam one last time before I retire.”

            “Very well.” He stepped aside. “Good night, then.”

            “Good night, sir.” With that she slipped away.

            Bane glanced after her before entering the room and closing the door.

            Barsad wagged a finger and warned, “Don’t gimme any shit, Bane,” before he returned to the couch.

            With a chuckle, Bane followed him. “I would never dream of it, brother.” Once he had settled in a chair across the coffee table from his lieutenant, he sobered. “Since you did your best to avoid me today, I will brief you on the various operations I initiated with the League today to find _Al Thi’b_. That is, if you can take your mind off that dusky gem long enough to concentrate on business.”

            Barsad finished his brandy with a flick of his wrist then held up the glass. “I have a feeling I’m going to need a refill for this conversation.”

            “Whatever is necessary, brother, though you know alcohol is a weakness, not a strengthener.”

            Barsad rolled his eyes and went to retrieve the decanter from the veranda.


	19. Chapter 19

            For the next hour, Bane outlined the various missions that had been put into play and listened to Barsad’s input. Bane was confident the League already had more intel on _Al Thi’b’s_ terror network than any government agency on earth. If it were not so, the CIA would never have made him the offer they had, and other nations would not so willingly have fallen into line with the uneasy alliance.

            Finished with business, Bane relaxed back in his chair and studied his friend. The unrest he had seen in Barsad’s eyes yesterday at dinner remained.

            “Why don’t you say what’s on your mind, Barsad? Nothing has ever stopped you before.”

            “I’ve told you what I think of the operations. They’re sound. I think they’ll yield something fairly quickly.”

            “I am not referring to the operations. I am referring to your opinion of the news I gave you last night, about my child and the immunity agreement. There is no universe in which you have no opinion on such things. We are alone. You know you can speak freely. I will relay none of it to our sister.”

            “Talia already knows how I feel. I spoke to her this morning.”

            Bane tried to hide his surprise over Talia not divulging this to him. “Then perhaps you will share the same with me. I need to know where you stand.”

            “Why? You made those decisions entirely on your own.”

            “Are you insinuating I planned to impregnate Talia?”

            “There is something called a condom, Bane.”

            “I had incorrectly assumed she was still on birth control.”

            “So she didn’t bother to tell you she wasn’t.”

            “You know her mental state then, brother,” Bane rumbled his warning. “We cannot fault her. The blame is mine for not being thorough and responsible.”

            “C’mon, Bane. Even if Talia was as sharp as she was before Gotham, you’d never let her take the blame for anything.”

            “If it’s valid, I will. But that is not the case now.”

            Barsad sighed in frustration and shook his head, eating more of the boondi.

            “Why are you against this child, Barsad?”

            “It’ll be a distraction for both of you. You’re the League’s commanders, for God’s sake.”

            “Our brothers understand my relationship with Talia; they know our history. None of this should come as a surprise. They are not as naïve as you are apparently.”

            “Naïve?” Barsad scoffed. “You know better than that. Listen, I’m not trying to piss on your happiness, but why the hell do you want a child?”

            “I never said I wanted a child, but it is reality now. I shall embrace it, as I embrace all difficulties.”

            “Are you sure this isn’t just you pissing on Bruce Wayne’s memory? You’ve never gotten over Talia sleeping with him, you know. Or all the other guys. Is this just to prove to yourself and her that you’re the cock of the walk?”

            “I have nothing to prove to anyone, brother.”

            Barsad poured himself more brandy. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d been drinking this instead of me.”

            “I have noticed your increase in alcohol intake lately.”

            “I’m bored. We’ve been idle too long.”

            “We just got back from Dagestan, in case you have forgotten.”

            “That was just a few days. We’ve been here for months.”

            “As you know, there are reasons for us being here. Ingold said the immunity agreement will be in the hands of our legal counsel first thing tomorrow. After that is signed and fulfilled, we will have more freedom to act when needed. Talia, however, I have encouraged to remain here until after the baby is born. She has agreed, quite willingly, of course, since she is still determined to step down as Demon Head.”

            “You should both just leave that kid to Maysam. She’s more excited about it than its mother.”

            “Talia will come around once the shock has worn off and she realizes this child will be a good thing for her. She will have a new purpose, especially if her apathy for her position in the League continues.”

            Barsad took a long swig of the brandy then shook his head. “Bane—Gotham’s Reckoning—changing diapers. I just can’t see it.”

            “I will leave that duty to you, brother.” Bane grinned behind the mask.

            Barsad barked a sarcastic laugh. “Maysam’s already referring to me as Uncle John.”

            “Yes, I heard her do so at supper. She knows your feelings on the matter, whether you’ve told her or not, so she’s already working to bring you into her camp. She is a wily woman.”

            “That she is.”

            “And speaking of women in your life, how is your conquest going with Sanjana? She seemed a bit flushed and flustered when she left us, and she seemed a bit off during supper. Have you broken that girl’s heart, brother?”

            “I haven’t had the chance. She is a bit off, isn’t she? Glad I’m not the only one who’s noticed it. She claims she was ill and that now her mother is ill.”

            “Claims?”

            “Yeah. I’m not sure I’m getting the whole story.”

            “But you will eventually, no doubt.”

            “You can bet your ass I will.”

            Bane stood, his back stiff from sitting so long. “Well, I will leave you to your evening, brother. I certainly hope you crack the case so you can finally get that girl in bed. That will surely cure your bout of boredom.”

            Barsad gave him a sly look. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

#

            “Mr. Barsad wishes to see you,” Hisham said, interrupting Sanjana’s dusting efforts in the salon. “What is the matter with you lately, girl? You are as jumpy as a cat.”

            “I didn’t hear you come in. Why—why does Mr. Barsad want to see me?”

            “How should I know? Now don’t dawdle. He’s waiting for you on his veranda. On your way.”

            Sanjana set aside her duster and left the room. She did not, however, hurry down the hallway. Her heart had begun beating wildly in fear the moment she had heard Hisham’s order. She had successfully avoided Barsad for the past two days since he had questioned her story about her sick mother. Easily she had sensed his doubts as well as his genuine concern, and that bit of compassion made her afraid she would fall to pieces and tell him the truth if she was alone with him too long. Hopefully all he wanted right now was a fresh pitcher of lemonade or something to eat.

            The late morning sun bleached the palace compound and the distant tawny mountains. Even in the veranda’s shade, the sun’s strength was felt, but Sanjana knew Barsad did not mind the heat the way Bane did. When she arrived, he got up from his chair with a smile, but even his mild expression could not put her at ease, though she tried as usual to hide her nervousness.

            “Hisham said you asked for me. What do you need, John?”

            “Oh, I don’t need anything; I just wanted to talk to you about something. Please, sit down.”

            Hesitant, she took the chair on the other side of a small table where an ashtray and a glass of water sat. She tried not to fidget with her pale pink _lehenga choli._ Not so successfully she attempted to meet his gaze but again found herself too fearful of what he would read there. Yet when he stayed silent, curiosity drew Sanjana’s eyes up. She found his expression startlingly sober, perhaps the most serious she had ever seen him. Her worry grew like a fanned flame.

            “After we spoke the other day about your mother,” Barsad began, “and how Maysam won’t let you go to her, I wanted to do something about it, since it’s partly my fault you can’t leave here.”

            Sanjana’s breath caught, and she stared at him in dread.

            “So I sent one of my men to your family’s house to see if we could get medical help for her.”

            Sanjana’s gaze darted away from him to the distant mountains. A strong urge to leap to her death from the veranda possessed her. Her whole body went cold, as if she were already dead.

            “My brother found your mother in good health. She said there must’ve been some confusion; she hasn’t been sick for some time.”

            Sanjana’s mind raced for an explanation, another lie; the words pushed at her lips, but she remained silent. She could not lie to him again, especially when it was futile now.

            “He asked your father if he had sent you a letter. He said no.”

            She could only imagine how confused and irritated her father had been, as well as perhaps frightened by someone like one of Bane’s men coming to their shack of a home in the slums. He would only think even more poorly of her after this intrigue. Why had she not come up with a better plan?

            “Did you tell Madam?” Sanjana managed to ask in a choked whisper.

            “No, of course not. This is just between you and me.”

            “You shouldn’t have sent your man; this doesn’t concern you. I’m sorry I lied. May I please go now?”

            “Sanjana.”

            Shame and panic brought her to her feet and over to the railing of the veranda. She looked downward. The fall into the courtyard below definitely would kill her. Then she felt a hand close around her arm, and she instinctively jerked away with a gasp.

            “Hey,” Barsad soothed. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

            She turned away to hide the sudden flood of desperate tears.

            “Please, come sit back down, Sanjana.”

            She sensed that he would not move away from her until she obeyed. Once settled again, hands clasped and shaking in her lap, she wiped at the tears and did her best to staunch them.

            “I’m trying to understand,” he continued, “why you would make up a story like that. Obviously you wanna leave here. But it isn’t because of your family, is it? Your father is still turned against you for what Hisham’s nephew did.”

            Her hands flashed up to her cheeks, which instantly darkened in humiliation. “How do you know what his nephew did? Did Hisham tell you?”

            “No, he didn’t. But how I know isn’t important right now. I need you to tell me why you would lie to Maysam so you could leave. Something must be very wrong. You’d said you were happy here.”

            She nodded. “I was.”

            “Then what’s changed? Is it something I’ve done?”

            “No, no, of course not.”

            “Something Maysam’s done? Or Bane?”

            “No, nothing like that. Please, I have to go.” Before he could reach for her again, she fled into his suite and rushed for the door. His footsteps pursued her.

            “Sanjana, wait!”

            Her clothing restricted her movements whereas his did not, and he sprinted past her to stop between her and the door, holding out a staying hand.

            “Please, John—”

            “Don’t run away. Let’s talk. I promise nothing bad will happen to you because of it. You need to trust me. I just want to help.”

            “Why? Why do you want to help me? You know what Hisham’s nephew did to me.”

            He frowned. “What does that have to do with why I help you or not?”

            She blushed. “You are a man, and I am a woman. Why else are men interested in women except to…? But now you know how I’ve been dishonored, so—”

            “Sanjana, stop. I don’t feel any differently about you knowing what I know. I’ve known about your past since I first met you.”

            “You have?”

            “Of course. I make it my business to know all I can about everyone who lives here in the palace. It’s for Maysam’s protection. Now, please, come sit down on the sofa.”

            “I should go. Madam will wonder why I am not cleaning the salon.”

            “You’re not leaving until you tell me what’s going on. Don’t worry about Maysam. Now, please—sit.”

            “I can’t, John. I can’t tell you.”

            “Can’t or won’t?”

            “It’s too dangerous.”

            “For who?”

            “My family…and others.”

            “What are you saying? Someone’s threatened you and your family? About what?”

            Barsad stepped closer, too close, and Sanjana sensed purpose in his nearness. She tried to hold her ground but took a step back, breathing quickly, avoiding his gaze again.

            “Someone’s hurt you, haven’t they?” he asked. “Physically? You’re shaking, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when I touched you on the veranda.”

            She shook her head.

            “Who hurt you, Sanjana?” Anger deepened his voice, filled it with determination and realization. “Was it Amir or one of his men?”

            At the mention of her attacker, tears returned to Sanjana. Though she tried to blink them away, they spilled over. Her stomach suddenly rebelled and pushed its contents upward. She ran to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. Barsad hurried after her and waited in the doorway until she finished. As she sat back and sobbed, he carefully crouched nearby, within reach. He took a box of tissues from the vanity behind him and set it beside her. Determined to quit her shameful display, Sanjana clutched a handful of them to her eyes.

            “I’m sorry, John. I’m sorry.”

            “You don’t have to apologize. Just breathe and relax. It’s okay.” After giving her time to collect herself, he said, “Why don’t we sit on the sofa?” He offered a wan smile. “More comfortable than the floor, don’t you think?”

            Shakily she nodded, but she doubted that she could get to her feet.

            “Let me help you,” he said, standing and offering his hand.

            Tentative Sanjana accepted. His hand was strong but gentle, and she found her grip tightening as he assisted her to her feet. She followed him back into his room, her tears coming to an end, the tissues drying her cheeks. Barsad moved a pillow away from one end of the sofa and gestured for her to sit there.

            “Let me get you a drink.” When he returned with a glass of water, she washed the bitter taste from her mouth. “Now, tell me what happened, Sanjana.”

            “I—I can’t.”

            “You don’t have to give me the details; just tell me who hurt you.”

            To stall, she slowly drank more of the water, then held the glass in her lap, staring at it for a long moment. Sitting quietly now, she realized the crushing weight that had been upon her chest and shoulders was gone. In its wake, she felt only tired and defeated…but at least no longer alone.

            “If Amir threatened your family, I can protect them.”

            “How?” she asked hopelessly.

            “You’ll just need to trust me on this. I have many resources available to me.”

            “But if you anger him, he will cause trouble for you. He might hurt you.”

            Barsad grinned slightly. “I’m not afraid of Amir the Snake, trust me. He and I go back a long way. I know his weaknesses and vulnerabilities.”

            “I can’t jeopardize my position here, John. It’s all I have. Madam won’t let me leave, but if she has a reason to be displeased, she also won’t want me to stay, then what will she do with me?”

            “Maysam’s not going to put you in danger, especially if she knows her brother-in-law is behind all this.”

            “Please don’t tell her anything, John. Can’t we just leave this alone?”

            “And let it happen again? If Amir hurt you once—and I’m assuming it was him, not one of his men now—he’ll hurt you again.”

            She paled at the thought, gripping the water glass. “But there’s no way to stop him, not without terrible repercussions for everyone.”

            “I’ll think of a way, a safe way, trust me. I won’t do anything that will create fallout for anyone else. But we can’t just let Amir get away with this.”

            “Maybe if we let it be, he will feel that he’s won, and he won’t do anything more.”

            “No, not Amir, believe me. You aren’t the first servant he’s done this to.”

            Sanjana shuddered. She had never considered that Amir might have attacked others and that he would do it again. Perhaps Barsad was right and something had to be done to stop Amir. But what and how? She could not live with herself if her revelation ended up causing someone she cared about to get hurt or even killed, especially her family. Yet remaining neutral could lead to another servant being harmed. She could not bear that thought either.

            “He’s a monster,” she murmured and finished the rest of her drink.

            “Listen, Sanjana, I need to know you’ll trust me on this. I won’t tell anyone else, not even Bane, okay? I want you to feel safe and to believe me when I say this won’t happen to you again.”

            “I’m afraid, John.”

            “I know, but you don’t have to be. Just trust me, okay?”

            She frowned, rubbing her fingers against the glass.

            “Sanjana,” he said, softer. “Look at me.” When she obeyed, he continued, “Do you trust me?”

            She rolled her lips together, trying to draw strength from his penetrating gaze. At last she nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

#

            Barsad’s plans for Amir had to wait. The Arab had left the palace the day after Bane and Barsad had returned from Dagestan, and he was expected to be gone three weeks. Though glad to be rid of Amir for Sanjana’s sake, Barsad was impatient for him to return so he could make the man pay for what he had done.

            The immunity agreement had been reviewed by the League’s counsel. After a bit of minor haggling between the interested parties, Bane was satisfied enough to sign it. Immunity was contingent upon the League capturing or killing _Al Thi’b_ , but Bane was confident in his men’s success. He and Barsad had daily briefings in his office on speaker phone with the League’s commanders throughout the world. Talia rarely attended, though Bane argued with her that she should. Afterwards, he would share the information with her, though she did her best to appear apathetic to command decisions.

            In his office, two weeks after initiating operations, Bane ended a most satisfying phone call—the first fruits of the League’s far-reaching missions. He wore a smile of triumph just as he heard female voices headed his way. A moment later Maysam swooped through his open door, Sanjana pausing on the threshold.

            “Excuse me, Haris,” Maysam said with an energized smile. “I am looking for Talia.”

            “She’s in the gym, I believe.”

            “Well, since I’m here…” Maysam waved her hand to encourage Sanjana to come into the office. “I’ll show you the paint samples. You can tell me which you prefer before I ask Talia.” She took a palette of paint samples from Sanjana and laid them on his desk.

            “Sanjana,” Bane said, looking at the servant instead of the samples, “would you please fetch Barsad from the swimming pool and have him report to me right away?”

            The young woman glanced, askance, at her mistress.

            “Maysam has no need of you for a few minutes,” Bane said with an amused smile. “She is going to be convincing me of what color I _should_ choose for the nursery.”

            With a smile of her own, Sanjana left the office.

            On her way to the swimming pool on the ground floor, Sanjana found her smile lingering at the thought of having an excuse to see Barsad. Had Bane sent her purposely? No, of course not; she was merely convenient since Hisham was elsewhere at the moment. Yet Bane often played coy around Barsad about her whenever she was in the same room with them. She admitted she took enjoyment in the way Bane’s teasing sometimes flustered Barsad. At other times, however, it made her uncomfortable with the thought of Barsad having any aspirations of ever sleeping with her. After all she had suffered, she feared that she might never want to share a man’s bed.

            Each day since her talk with Barsad about Amir, Sanjana felt a bit stronger, a bit happier. It had taken a few days to get over her shame and embarrassment for crying and being sick in front of Barsad, as well as for burdening him with her problems and lying to him, but eventually she resumed her evening lessons with him. As usual, Barsad made her feel at ease and more normal, making her laugh again. Going forward, she found that having shared her trauma and vulnerability brought her closer to him. For the first time in her life, she felt as if someone truly understood her, good and bad, and actually wanted to be with her for no other reason than because he valued her company.

            As she neared the door to the swimming pool, her steps slowed as she realized Barsad would be wearing only swim trunks. She had seen him shirtless in his room before, but this was different. He would be nearly naked…and wet. Again she wondered if Bane had sent her for just this reason. Outside the door, she paused, swallowed hard, then entered.

            Barsad was swimming the backstroke, moving away from her, so he instantly saw her and stopped to tread water. His grin was infectious as he began to swim toward her in a modified breaststroke. She halted a couple of steps from the side closest to him.

            “What brings you here?” He glided over and rested his forearms on the edge, hair plastered to his head, eyes slightly irritated by the chlorine, beard dripping.

            “Mr. Bane would like to see you right away.”

            “Is that so?” He hoisted himself from the pool, water pouring off him.

            Sanjana stepped back to remain dry, horrified that her gaze had instantly gone to the bulge in his yellow and blue trunks.

            “Y—yes. He is in his office with Madam. She is showing him paint samples for the nursery.”

            Barsad chuckled, sloshing over to where a towel lay folded on a teak bench. “Paint, huh? I bet Bane is keenly interested in that.” He turned back to her, as if granting her one last look at him before wrapping himself in the towel. “Especially since it’s his office that’s getting turned into a nursery. He’s losing his man space. Personally, I think it’s hilarious.”

            Sanjana turned for the door. “I will let him know you are coming.”

            He appeared beside her, wiping down his hair. “I’ll go with you.”

            “But…aren’t you going to get dressed first?”

            “Nah. It’s never good to keep Bane waiting.” He wrapped the towel around his waist.

            During their journey upstairs, Sanjana blushed whenever another servant saw her with the palace’s scantily-clad guest. Tongues would wag downstairs tonight. She did not, however, find herself embarrassed as she had expected. Instead, when they threw shocked glances her way, she kept her head up and her back straight, looking dutifully ahead as if this occurred every day. Truth be told, she felt rather invincible with Barsad walking beside her, not in front of her as everyone else did. Had Bane somehow known this would happen, too?

            “Are you coming to see me tonight?” Barsad asked quietly when no one else was near.

            “I should be able to.”

            “How about we forego the lesson tonight? I thought I might teach you some card games instead. Do you know any card games?”

            “No.”

            “Okay, then. It’s settled.”

            Although slightly unsure of this change, Sanjana still found herself smiling privately.

            Once they reached Bane’s office, Barsad saw Maysam sitting on the edge of the desk, chatting away. Bane looked patient and amused, but when he saw his lieutenant, Barsad recognized the instant glint of purpose in his eyes.

            “John!” Maysam cried when she saw his lack of attire. “Have you shocked all the staff on your way here? I hope Ayman didn’t see you. He might have had a heart attack.”

            “I wish I had seen your brother,” Barsad teased. “I woulda liked to see his face.”

            Maysam laughed. “Me, too.” She offered the paint samples. “Would you—”

            “Oh, no way. I’m not putting in an opinion on colors. I know better than that. Bane, you weren’t stupid enough to—”

            “Brother, Sanjana will fetch you a robe from the closet in my room so you don’t dampen your chair. Ladies, if you will excuse us.”

            Once they were alone, Bane chuckled. “Are you trying to shock the girl to death, brother, parading through the palace that way?”

            “Didn’t want to waste any time,” Barsad grinned. “Figured this was important. Thanks for not sending Hisham.”

            Sanjana returned a moment later with one of Bane’s robes. “If you prefer, I can bring you one of your own robes. Mr. Bane’s is so large.”

            Barsad raised a suggestive eyebrow and grinned. “Yes, it is.”

            Bane shot him a look of both approval and disapprobation. If Sanjana caught the double entendre, she showed no reaction.

            “That’s okay, Sanjana,” Barsad said.

            “That will be all,” Bane said, sobering. “Thank you, Sanjana.” After the servant had closed the door behind her, Bane leaned back in his leather chair. “I just received good news, brother.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Our operation in Belgium has captured one of _Al Thi’b’s_ men. He’s one of the leaders of a cell in Brussels. I have told our men that I want to interrogate him myself.”

            “Another road trip, huh? I suppose it won’t do me any good to try to talk you out of it and let our brothers handle it? You don’t have immunity yet, Bane.”

            “I am no more concerned than I was going to Dagestan. You will be pleased to hear we will not be going as far afield.”

            “No?”

            “Just the other side of the Pakistani border, to our safe house outside Khipro. They are transporting him there now. We will leave tonight.” He allowed a small, teasing grin. “So I’m afraid there will be no English lesson tonight for Sanjana.”


	20. Chapter 20

            In the corner of the room, the hooded man sat on the dirt floor, hands bound behind him, his feet immobilized with zip-ties. His head was bowed as if he were sleeping, but Bane knew he was awake, listening, trying to figure out what the opening of the door meant, the sound of boots entering. The prisoner’s chest rose and fell just enough to reveal his slightly increased respiration.

            One of Bane’s men entered with a wooden chair and set it in the middle of the empty room, then he grabbed the prisoner under one armpit and dragged him over to the chair. He pulled the hood off, and the prisoner squinted and blinked in the dim light from the ceiling fixture. Bane’s man moved toward the closed door and stood with his back to it. Bane knew Barsad was just outside that door, cursing him for not being allowed inside.

            The prisoner—dark-haired, heavily bearded, and older than expected—peered at Bane. His gray eyes widened, and he shook his head as if to clear his senses, his mouth opening in shock.

            “You’re alive,” the man hoarsely said, surprising Bane by speaking in English.

            “Indeed, I am not a ghost.”

            Strangely enough, the prisoner began to chuckle and shake his head. Then he threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing against the bare walls. Bane scowled. Had his men captured a lunatic?

            When the laughter finally subsided, the prisoner considered Bane with a strange blend of amusement and irony. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

            Bane stared at the man, guessed him to be somewhere in his sixties, noticed the cleft lip, the broad, rugged face, a gaze narrow and shrewd. Something deep in Bane’s memory stirred. Perhaps without the beard, he could recognize the man. Or was this merely a ploy?

            “Maybe,” the prisoner continued, “you only remember the men you’ve killed, not the ones you helped save.”

            “Prove that you know me,” Bane rumbled as his mind flew back through the years to try to place this man, annoyed with himself that he did not already know the answer.

            The prisoner’s lips twitched into a wry grin, and he glanced at Bane’s associate near the door. “You might not want your man to hear; it might embarrass you.”

            Bane’s fingers twitched, and he took a step forward, growled, “Do not trifle with me. Say what you wish to say, but do it quickly or I shall choke the life out of you.”

            The prisoner licked his cracked lips, considered Bane. “When you were a boy, you had a stuffed bear. Your mother gave it to you. Osito.”

            In a flash, Bane was back in the pit prison, in his cell, holding Osito. He was talking to someone, a man in the next cell, someone who was warning him of the danger posed by another prisoner. Bane had not believed the man then, but later learned the warning had been warranted. It had all led to the first murder Bane had committed, just a mere boy at the time. He should have heeded the other prisoner’s warning.

            With sudden realization, Bane stared at his bearded prisoner. No one but those in the pit prison would have knowledge of Osito. Yet a lifetime of caution would not allow him to believe just yet.

            “If you know of Osito, then you must know his fate,” Bane tested.

            The prisoner shrugged one broad shoulder. “We all figured that bastard Greyson used him as fuel for his brazier after you sliced up the Vulture in his cell and left the bear behind.”

            Though the man’s words were flippant, Bane recognized the shadows in those gray eyes because they were the same shadows that had troubled him for years after escaping the pit prison. While Bane had conquered his nightmares, this man was still dogged by those memories.

            A second voice came to Bane from the past, another man who had escaped with Bane, one who had contacted him right after the Gotham takeover, speaking about a mutual friend from their prison days: “He didn’t recover as well as I did from prison. He prefers not to remember those days. Well, except for you. He always kept track of you through me, you know. I think it always bothered him, knowing what you suffered at the end and how you refused to leave Talia for treatment.”

            With sudden realization, Bane staggered a step closer still to his prisoner, eyes wide. “Abrams?” he rasped.

            All amusement gone, Abrams nodded once, unblinking.

            Bane could say nothing for some time as he stared at the man who had lived next to him for fifteen years in the pit. After Bane’s mother had died, Abrams had slowly become Bane’s friend and, later, Talia’s as well. It was that friendship that had saved Abrams’s life—when Talia’s father had arrived to rescue Bane, he carried with him a list of four prisoners that his daughter wanted him to also liberate; Abrams had been on that list.

            “It’s been a long time, Bane,” Abrams said. “Last time I saw you face-to-face…well, you didn’t have much of a face then, did you?”

            Bane turned to the guard. “Leave us.” When the door closed behind the man, Bane turned back to Abrams, recovered from his shock. “The last I knew, you were working for a security firm in Berlin. That is a long way from being a _jihadist_ , Abrams. Have you returned to your old mercenary ways or have you been brainwashed by some fool? You must be in your sixties now; too old to be involved in such nonsense, no matter what the cause or influence.”

            “Nonsense, eh? If it’s nonsense, then why’d your men snatch me and bring me to you? It’s obvious you didn’t know _who_ they were grabbing.”

            “Old friend or not, I will be the one asking the questions here.”

            “Still stubborn and full of yourself, I see.” Abrams nodded. “I watched your speeches from Gotham. Quite the windbag. But an eloquent windbag. I thought of your mother. Wondered what she would think of Gotham’s Reckoning.”

            Bane swelled with anger. “If you value your tongue, you will not attempt to put words in her mouth when she cannot refute them.”

            “She’d probably blame herself for how you turned out, just like I blame myself sometimes.”

            “How I ‘turned out’ is none of your concern.”

            Abrams raised an eyebrow. “Considering I’m tied up in some unknown location with one of the world’s most wanted men, I’d say it is my concern.”

            “ _I_ chose my path. You, however, seem out of your element. You never struck me as a follower, and I suspect you still are not. How have you come to be in _Al Thi’b’s_ ranks?”

            Abrams studied Bane, seemed to weigh many things at once. “As you said, I used to work for a security firm in Berlin. Over the years, I became one of the best in my field. Word gets around. Once _Al Thi’b_ started to make a name for himself, I was recruited by the German intelligence agency, _Bundesnachrichtendienst_. While you were subjugating Gotham, I was infiltrating the jihadist’s ranks. I’ve been under ever since.”

            “Why are you telling me this when you know they will kill you if I breathe a word to them about you being an operative of the BND?”

            “Because I’m guessing that whatever it is you want with _Al Thi’b_ , you will appreciate the fact that you have someone you know in their ranks.” He shrugged. “And, as you said, you know me well enough to know I’m no fucking raghead. You wouldn’t kill a friend who’s just doing his job, would you… _old friend_?” That wry grin from ages ago, the one that found difficulty in reflecting true mirth. “How’s Talia? I’m assuming since you escaped Gotham, then she did, too. I have a feeling you wouldn’t find life worth living without her. Am I right?”

            “As I said, Abrams, I will be the one asking the questions here.”

            Abrams’s grin drifted away as the prison’s shadows returned. “I never should’ve let you go with her that day. Or rather, I shouldn’t have let you go with her father. That one…I could tell he was going to have a shitload of influence over you, and it wasn’t going to be the right kind.” Abrams leaned back and sighed. “Rā’s al Ghūl. A legend in the intelligence community, I learned. Nothing but mystery. Ceaseless funding from untraceable sources. An unmatchable fighting force as elusive as their commander. Maybe your organization is no better than _Al_ _Thi’b’s_. Everything’s just a matter of perspective.”

            “You can be amusing, Abrams. But you speak of things you don’t understand.”

            “Yeah? Then maybe you can help me understand why the great Rā’s al Ghūl excommunicated you? Anything to do with that daughter of his?”

            “More questions.” Bane shook his head. “I don’t remember you being so inquisitive in prison.”

            “You weren’t as interesting back then, Bane.” A small grin that made Bane unexpectedly think of Barsad. “So you won’t tell me anything, not even whether or not Talia is alive? I did care about that kid in prison, you know. What she did in Gotham…maybe she was brainwashed by her father.”

            “I am here to speak about _Al Thi’b_. Now that I know you and I have the same goal in mind, this will work in both our favors.”

            “And what is ‘this’?”

            “I need access to the Wolf.”

            “You and the rest of the civilized world, my friend. I’m with a cell in Belgium. God only knows where Ibrahim Darzi is. It’s not like he broadcasts his whereabouts.”

            “I am not a fool, Abrams. You may not know where he is, but his lieutenants do, and you can get word to them. However, once they hear you’ve been taken, they will no doubt come looking for you first. And when you tell them who snatched you and what I want, they will come to me.”

            “And what is it you want? The League of Shadows has an entirely different agenda than Muslim extremists. Or is that another question you won’t answer?”

            Bane allowed a small smile of amusement. “I want the same thing you want, my friend— _Al Thi’b_ dead.”

            “So that’s what I’m going to tell Darzi—‘Gotham’s Reckoning wants to let you know he plans to kill you’? I think he’ll turn down that invitation, Bane.”

            “You have found quite the sense of humor in your old age, Abrams.”

            Abrams snorted.

            Bane withdrew a knife from inside his jacket and switched open the blade. Abrams eyed him. Bending down, Bane sliced the bindings at his feet then did the same to those at his wrists.

            “You have no need to flee,” Bane said. “And if you try, you will never make it out of this building.”

            “Now why would I want to leave after this wonderful reunion?” Abrams rubbed the red marks on his wrists.

            “You will return to Belgium and get word to Darzi that I have a proposition for him. We are aware that he has chemical weapons but no delivery system. You will tell Darzi that the League can help him with that technology. In exchange, Darzi’s target for those chemical weapons will be Gotham.”

            “And you really have this technology? Darzi might not believe you.”

            “Tell him that I will bring proof to our meeting. But the meeting must be with him, not one of his flunkies. We know he operates in the tribal regions on the border between Pakistan and Afghanistan. I propose the meeting be there, at a location of his choosing.” Bane reached into his jacket pocket again. “Give him this burner phone. The number he is to call is on the back.”

            Abrams took the phone and considered Bane for a long moment. “There’s something more to this than just wanting Gotham destroyed and Darzi dead, isn’t there? Why are you really doing this, Bane?”

            “If you come through for me, perhaps I will answer your question then, old friend. But for the safety of both of us, I will say nothing further on the matter. And speaking of safety, you should try to be a part of Darzi’s contingent when we meet.”

            “Since you said you want Darzi dead, I take it you have no intention of giving him anything. Not sure I want to be around when you two meet.”

            “We can protect you then. You will have no need to remain in their ranks where some might suspect you for a traitor afterwards.”

            “You’re confident in your plan.”

            “Of course.”

            “Darzi’s no fool, Bane.”

            “No, but he is a man addicted to chaos and escalation. He will be eager to up his game with what the League can offer him. I am counting on his ego to be his downfall.”

            “Be sure it’s not the other way around,” Abrams muttered.

            Bane chuckled mirthlessly. “After all I have done, old friend, you are still concerned for my well-being?”

            “I’m not sure what you’ve become over the years, Bane, but I know what you were back in prison. If I had insisted you come with me and Hans to Germany after we got out, I think your life would’ve been better and there would be a lot fewer corpses in your wake.”

            “You know nothing of my life now, Abrams. If you did, you would not consider it in so bleak a light. Perhaps one day I can enlighten you. In fact, I look forward to it once this latest chapter is over.”

            Abrams scoffed. “Hard to enlighten me if we’re both dead.”

            Bane chuckled again and held out a hand. “Come, old friend. I can hear by the noises from your belly that you have not eaten in some time. I will have my men scrounge up some rations for you while you tell me everything you know about _Al Thi’b_ and his network.”

#

            The palace compound had several gates—heavy, decorative doors within high archways dressed in beautiful frescoes—and these entryways had always been guarded by heavily-armed men for as long as the El Fadil family retained ownership. Whenever Bane and Talia were in residence, members of the League also stood watch. Elsewhere along the palace walls, security cameras constantly monitored the perimeter. No one could get in or out of the palace without being seen. Barsad had an intimate knowledge of the palace’s security system—he had helped implement the technology. It was that knowledge that allowed him to hack the cameras along the west wall, so when he scaled the wall after dark one chilly evening, no one would ever know he had left the compound. The video loop he had inserted could prove dangerous to those in the palace if a breach was attempted, but Barsad would not be gone long. He had to take the risk.

            Once outside, dressed in black from head to toe, he slipped away into the adjacent village. He knew every inch of the town, every shadow and alley that would help keep him invisible as he made his way, winding between buildings where families were settling down to their meals and a relaxing night, past shops closed and dark. Only the occasional mongrel noticed him, barking in uncertainty before retreating or holding its ground. Now and then the blur of a cat darted across his path.

            His mind stayed mainly focused on his mission, but now and then he thought back to his trip to Pakistan with Bane nearly three weeks ago. Bane had not introduced him to Abrams, due to Bane’s safety concerns over someone with as keen a sense of observation as Abrams recognizing Barsad even behind a shemagh.

            “Your perpetually-sleepy eyes with their memorable sharp blue color can easily be recognized by anyone familiar with your face from television during the Gotham siege, especially in the context of standing next to me,” Bane explained. “And Abrams has training, so even if an average observer did not recognize you, Abrams would.”

            Barsad tried to dismiss Bane’s protectiveness, not only because he didn’t care about being recognized but because he wanted to talk to Abrams. Over the years, Bane had spoken several times about his friend from prison, and Barsad was naturally curious about the man and what he knew about Bane’s life in the pit. Regardless of how long he had known Bane, Barsad always felt there was more to learn, especially about his formative years. Now Barsad wondered if perhaps Bane had kept him from talking to Abrams for that very reason, the sly bastard.

            Because Barsad didn’t know Abrams the way Bane did, he was instinctively cautious when it came to Abrams delivering _Al Thi’b_ to the League. But Bane’s confidence in the man proved, as usual, well-founded—Abrams managed to convince Darzi to meet with Gotham’s Reckoning. No doubt Darzi was as amazed as Abrams to learn that Bane had survived Gotham, and the Muslim terrorist’s ego was big enough to cause the Saudi to agree to the rendezvous if for nothing else than to say he had met the notorious Masked Man and knew his fate, whereas the rest of the world did not. One more reason for Darzi to think he was above all others.

            During the past weeks, Barsad and Bane had meticulously gone over Bane’s plan with their brothers for when they would meet with Darzi—only a week from now. As usual, Bane was confident in everything he laid out and, equally usual, Barsad questioned everything and looked for any flaws, especially ones that would put Bane in unwarranted danger, which he felt this op would. As with all of Bane’s plans, it was a high-risk operation, one that could very well end in Bane’s death. It was because of this danger that Barsad insisted he be there, whether Abrams recognized him or not. Only Talia had been able to convince Bane to give in to Barsad’s demand.

            Reaching the far side of the village at last, Barsad focused on the business at hand. The building he had chosen was the tallest in the village—three stories high—and its rooftop commanded a view of the whole town. With rope and grapnel from his tactical pack, Barsad easily and quickly scaled the side of the mud-walled building. Once on the slate roof, he moved silently to the far side. There he donned his night vision goggles and scanned the target area some one hundred meters down the street in front of him. All was quiet and dark, no headlights yet. But Barsad knew his target would be there soon. Turning to his pack, Barsad set to assembling his Lobaev light tactical sniper rifle. He knew the weapon intimately; he could disassemble and assemble it even blindfolded.

            With the suppressor affixed, Barsad soon turned the rifle’s night vision scope down the street and waited, waited as he had hundreds of times in the past for his prey.

            Though he tried to stay single-minded, his thoughts wandered back to the palace and his warm bed. He had changed nothing in his routine that night, including his time spent with Sanjana before lights out. Since returning from Dagestan, Barsad’s relationship with the young woman had progressed. Sanjana’s English lessons continued with great success along with her knowledge of poker and other card games Barsad taught her. She in turn taught him some traditional Indian boards games like _pallanguli_ and _chaupar_ as well as card games like _satti pe satti_. Barsad suggested asking Bane and Talia to join them, but Sanjana never allowed it.

            “I am just a servant,” she had said with a scandalized look. “Mr. Bane and Miss Talia are Madam’s honored guests.”

            “Oh, and I’m not?” Barsad teased.

            Sanjana blushed and managed to stammer the weak defense of, “It is different with us. You are my friend.”

            “Well, Bane doesn’t give a shi—I mean, he doesn’t care about class distinction. It’s one of the social norms that our organization rejects.”

            “Madam would be displeased if I socialized with her granddaughter. She allows me to spend time with you because…because…” The blush deepened. “Well, I’m just glad she does.”

            Bane continued his practice of teasing Barsad about his relationship with Sanjana. “I have never seen you so patient with a woman, brother. Could this perhaps be love?”

            Barsad had scoffed at the notion then and now.

            Headlights flashed into view down the narrow dirt street below Barsad, and all thought left his mind except his purpose here. His target was not a predictable man except in this one indulgence. Periods of time away always impelled him to come to this house upon his return. Barsad knew the young woman who lived in that house; she used to work at the palace until Maysam had dismissed her for impropriety.

            The chauffeur stepped out of the white Range Rover, momentarily in Barsad’s crosshairs as he opened the vehicle’s rear door for his employer. Barsad’s target emerged from the vehicle, paused to straighten his clothes, preening like a peacock before the hen. The chauffeur closed the door, and the target filled the scope’s crosshairs. Before the man could step toward the door of the house, Barsad breathed out, long and even, then squeezed the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to find out more about Bane's past relationship with Abrams, I invite you to read my story RISEN FROM DARKNESS.


	21. Chapter 21

            Barsad was back in his bed several minutes before he heard footsteps rushing down the hall, followed by a hurried knock on his door.

            “Mr. Barsad, please wake up!” Hisham’s alarmed voice. Then another, more strident series of knocks. “Mr. Barsad!”

            Purposely ruffling his hair, Barsad called, “Come in, Hisham.” He reached to turn on a small lamp beside his bed, squinting at the servant who scurried in, wringing his hands.

            “Madam sent me, sir. Something terrible has happened.”

            “Is it Talia and the baby?”

            “No, sir. It’s Madam’s brother-in-law. He has been shot.”

            “Shot?” Barsad sat up.

            “Y—yes, sir. He—he’s dead.”

            “What?” Barsad got to his feet, reaching for his pistol beneath his pillow. “Someone breached the perimeter?”

            “No, sir. He was in the village.”

            “Where’s Maysam?”

            “She went to where they have taken Sahib’s body. She asked that you join her in his suite.”

            Barsad reached for his pants on a nearby chair. “Let Bane know. This might be a larger plot. Wake Yemi and tell him to meet me outside Amir’s suite.”

            “Yes, sir.” Hisham hurried from the room.

            As Barsad finished dressing, he did his best not to smile, but it was difficult to contain his satisfaction. His only regret over his actions was for any trouble Amir’s assassination might cause Maysam. He had no delusions about her grieving her brother-in-law; Amir was her least favorite among her husband’s brothers, and his treatment of her since Siddig’s death had caused her to barely tolerate him. She would quickly realize how much easier her life would be when Amir’s younger brother, Nashir, succeeded him in the family business. Both she and Barsad had a more civil relationship with Nashir.

            Heading to the elevator, Barsad wondered if anyone would suspect him as Amir’s killer. There was no reason to, though. No one else knew about Amir’s rape of Sanjana, not unless Amir spoke of it to someone. Yet even then, if anyone suspected Barsad of revenge, they would have no proof. No one except Bane knew about Barsad possessing the rifle that had killed Amir, a weapon Barsad had disposed of before returning to the place tonight. Nothing could be traced to him. He was safe, and more importantly Sanjana was safe.

            Barsad wished he were there to see her face when she heard the news.

#

            Bane sat across the Persian rug from Barsad in his lieutenant’s room and watched his friend closely where he sprawled on the sofa in his usual insouciant way. Barsad had shaved off his beard that morning and was now absently rubbing his chin while viewing the nearby fifty-inch television. _Al Jazeera_ news was showing nothing that should interest Barsad, the sound turned low since Bane had entered a moment ago.

            “So we’re to be prisoners here now, eh?” Barsad grumbled.

            “With the mourners arriving and all that Amir’s funeral will entail, we must necessarily remain here on Maysam’s floor, away from prying eyes. We are not to even go out on the verandas. So it appears your vile nicotine habit will have to be put on hold.”

            “Like hell.”

            “You know how Maysam feels about smoking indoors. You will honor her wishes, brother.”

            With a curse, Barsad reached for his coffee. “We should just go to _’Eth Alth’eban_.”

            “You may go, if you wish. But we both know Talia cannot go back there. I won’t have nightmares disturbing her, especially during this crucial and delicate first trimester. And even if I wanted to take her back there for the sake of her personal safety, Maysam will not allow it, not now that Talia is pregnant.”

            “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Bane. Besides, we have a date with _Al Thi’b_ next week, remember.”

            “Indeed.”

            “Is Talia with Maysam?”

            “No. Talia is sleeping. Maysam is with her in-laws, making arrangements for Amir’s funeral.” Bane watched his lieutenant closer still. “Let us discuss Amir’s death, brother.”

            Barsad’s gaze was back on the television. “What’s to discuss? Good riddance, I say.”

            “I surely do not mourn his loss.”

            “And neither does Maysam, though she’ll put on a good performance for Amir’s family. Her life will be easier with Nashir at the helm.”

            “Is that what you were thinking when you pulled the trigger?”

            Barsad scowled at him. “What’re you talking about?”

            “Come now, brother. It would be easy enough for me to check your private arsenal in that closet over there. I have little doubt that one of your sniper rifles is missing. Of course, you would not have brought the murder weapon back here—Amir’s men could trace the ballistics back to that weapon. And because Maysam never allowed Amir or his men access to our weapons, they have no knowledge of what is here or—more importantly now—what is missing. Your plan was well thought out, as usual.”

            “If I wanted Amir dead, why wouldn’t I have killed him a long time ago?”

            “There’s risk in it for Maysam, of course. So now I ask myself what has changed? Obviously something significant. Must I ask or won’t you save us both the time and just tell me, John?”

            Barsad stalled by drinking more coffee. Bane waited patiently, amused more than annoyed by his friend’s reluctance. He had already guessed Barsad’s motivations were linked to Sanjana, but he wanted to make his lieutenant squirm a bit.

            “We have no secrets, Barsad,” Bane put a touch of authority in his tone. “And we will not start now. If I can guess your motivation, then others can, too, especially if we are indeed talking about Sanjana.”

            “I know Amir better than you. Because of that, I don’t believe he told anyone what he did. He wouldn’t want word to get back to Maysam, and it definitely would if he was dumb enough to mention anything. And Amir was a lot of things, but dumb wasn’t one of them.” He set his cup down. “So, no, brother—no one will be guessing my motivations unless they assume it was my long-standing hatred of the Snake. That’s no secret. But if they suspect me because of that, then there’s a whole list of others they’ll be suspecting, too. We both know the legions of enemies Amir had.”

            “True enough. So now that you have assuaged my concern for your safety, why don’t you tell me what convinced you to take this risky path? What was it that Amir ‘did’?”

            Barsad’s jaw clenched. “He raped Sanjana, the fucking bastard, when we were in Dagestan. He raped her because of me. I couldn’t live with myself if I hadn’t done something about it.” He gave Bane a hard look. “If anyone can understand what I did and why, you should be able to.”

            The memory of Melisande’s screams from the pit prison echoed in Bane’s mind, and he felt sick to his stomach for Barsad. How well he knew that guilt, that rage!

            “Why do you blame yourself for what Amir did? He has been known to abuse his servants, especially when we are not here.”

            “Not Maysam’s servants. He’s been careful enough not to cross that line. I think it’s plain why he did it. He knows enough about what goes on even in Maysam’s wing of the palace; he knows Sanjana and I have become friends. And as a man, he knows what I’d like to do. So he waited until we were gone to attack her, then he threatened her family as a way to keep her quiet.”

            “So you have guessed all this without proof?”

            “Sanjana eventually told me.”

            “Did she ask you to kill Amir?”

            “Of course not. She didn’t even wanna tell me, but I knew something had happened to her. You sensed it, too, when we got back from Dagestan.”

            “True enough.”

            “I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone, but here I am breaking that promise, thanks to you and your damn questions.”

            “This is my business, brother. Amir’s family directly impacts Maysam and her status here as well as Talia. I would like to think you considered them before going through with your plan.”

            “Of course I did.”

            “Very well. We shall see how this plays out with Nashir and the family. The funeral will be tomorrow, then three days of mourning. All will be over before we must leave for our meeting with _Al Thi’b_. If, between now and then, the family speculates about your involvement in Amir’s death, then you will not return here after our mission.”

            “You know I go wherever you go, brother.”

            “In this instance, you will not. I refuse to take any chances with Talia’s stay here being made unpleasant or dangerous due to your choices.”

            “As usual, you worry too much, Bane. Even Amir’s brothers didn’t like him. They’ll probably be glad he’s gone and not care how it happened.”

            “We shall hope so, brother.” He stood. “Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to meditate before lunch.” At the door, he turned back to his lieutenant and raised a rebuking finger. “Remember what I said about staying off your veranda.”

            Somehow Barsad managed to keep from giving his commander the finger.

#

            Sanjana moved in a fog all day, tending to her mistress’s needs. Maysam assisted wherever a woman was allowed in the preparations for her brother-in-law’s burial, and Sanjana never left her side, though she longed to talk to Barsad.

            The minute she had entered Amir’s bedroom with Maysam that early morning and saw his bloody form laid out on the bed, a bullet to the brain delivered with precision, she had known Barsad was responsible. At first she tried to convince herself that she was being foolish; Amir had many enemies capable of assassinating him. However, she could not shake her belief Barsad had done the deed. But why would he take such a risk just because of something that had happened to her? Or was her thinking all wrong? No doubt Amir had angered Barsad in many previous instances, especially over Amir’s treatment of Maysam, so perhaps a mere serving girl was not behind his motivations.

            Either way, she had to know the truth. And she needed to thank him.

            When she saw Amir’s dead body, his head wrapped in blood-soaked cloths, she had wanted to cry out with joy, so much so that tears came to her eyes and she had to clap her hands over her mouth to keep silent. The stone that had inhabited her stomach since the rape seemed to disintegrate, lightening her very soul.

            Maysam ate a small lunch alone in her room, and later a dinner with some of their newly arrived guests where Sanjana was among the servants attending them during the meal. So Sanjana had no opportunity to see Barsad until late evening, after Maysam had gone to bed. Sanjana could barely keep her eyelids open, but she knew she could not sleep without speaking to Barsad first.

            When she reached his door, she paused to listen, to make sure he had not retired early. She could hear the television—some sports program, perhaps an American football game; he did enjoy that odd sport, though she understood none of what she had seen of the game during her leisure times in his room. After her knock, he called for her to enter.

            From the sofa, his welcoming smile and greeting warmed her heart as she crossed the room and set his evening snack on the coffee table before him.

            “You have shaved!” she said. “You look so different.”

            “Better or worse?”

            “Younger.”

            “Well, I’ll take that as ‘better’ then.” He grinned and grabbed a handful of grapes from the bowl she had brought. Using the remote control, he turned down the volume on the football game. “You look exhausted. Please, sit down.”

            “Thank you. It has been a long day.”

            He used a tissue to take the gum from his mouth so he could eat the grapes. Scowling, he displayed the wadded tissue and said, “Bane won’t let me go on the veranda to smoke, so I broke out the Nicorette gum.” He gestured to the bowl of mixed fruit. “Help yourself. Have you even eaten today?”

            “Yes, of course.” She watched him chew, enjoyed that little twinkle in his eyes.

            “How’s Maysam?”

            “She’s in bed now. It was a very busy day. Guests have been arriving all evening.” She paused. “And speaking of bed, I won’t stay long because I’m very tired, but I wanted to thank you before I went to my room.”

            “Thank me for what?”

            Sanjana studied him as he looked at her blankly. “Must I say it?”

            “Well, I guess so because I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            She hesitated, leaned slightly forward, quietly said, “Amir.”

            “Amir? What about him?”

            Sanjana frowned. “It…it was you, wasn’t it? You killed him.”

            Barsad sat up straight. “Me?” He laughed. “Sure, I’m glad he’s dead, but I’m not the one who shot him.”

            Sanjana stared in confusion for a moment before realizing how foolish she was for assuming he would admit such a thing, even to her. And perhaps he indeed had not killed Amir, especially for her sake. She was assuming too much about his feelings for her.

            “Well,” Barsad said, reaching for his tumbler of brandy, “the important thing is that you won’t ever have to see him again.”

            “Yes.” She faltered. “When I saw him lying there, dead, I had never felt so happy about seeing a corpse. Is that wrong of me?”

            “Of course not. Considering what he did to you, he’s lucky you weren’t the one who shot him.” Barsad raised a mischievous eyebrow. “You didn’t shoot him, did you?”

            She could not contain a small laugh. “Of course not. I don’t know how to shoot a gun.”

            “Well, maybe that’s something else I can teach you. Would you like to learn?”

            Sanjana hesitated. “I don’t think Madam would approve.”

            “I’ll ask her.”

            “John.” She blushed. “You are trouble.”

            “That’s what Maysam says all the time.”

            They chatted for a few more minutes, letting the subject of Amir die away. Try as she might, Sanjana could not read the truth behind Barsad’s eyes. But there was something different in his mood—a touch of pride and cockiness—that made her believe she was correct in her assumption about Amir’s murder. Would he one day tell her the truth? Could a man like John Barsad ever trust her with such a dangerous secret?

            Before leaving, she turned down his bed while he disappeared into the bathroom. As she fluffed the pillows and smoothed the sheets, she wondered what it would be like to stay here with him, to crawl into this bed and sleep with his arms around her until morning, to feel warm and completely safe. She _was_ safe, she reminded herself with a small smile, thanks to him.

            When Barsad emerged from the bathroom, she turned her smile on him and said, “I’ll wish you good night, then.”

            He followed her to the door. “Get some sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow will be a busy day for you again.” He grinned at her where she paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Hopefully Maysam won’t monopolize you completely again. I’ve gotten used to being pampered every day.”

            Sanjana blushed at the nearness of his hooded eyes and easy grin, his hair tousled and boyish. She was glad he had shaved off his beard—she could see his lips fully now. He was standing closer than usual. She told herself to open the door and leave, but her hand remained unmoved on the knob.

            Quietly she said, “Perhaps you didn’t kill Amir, but…if you did…”

            She wavered, biting her lip, unable to look away from him. Then she stood on her toes and, though her intention was to kiss his cheek, her lips went to his mouth, to those thin lips shaped like a hunter’s bow, meeting them just briefly. She was unsure who was more surprised by her move, but Barsad said nothing, merely standing there with the hint of satisfaction curling the corners of his mouth and a new light in his eyes.

            “…if you did,” she continued near a whisper, “thank you.”

            Then she opened the door and slipped away, her heart beating high in her throat.

#

_Talia found herself in a room with no light. The walls were close all around her. She could sense them even without sight. Tentatively she stretched out her fingers until she touched one of the walls. Smooth and cold. Stone, like the pit. The thought of the prison increased her breathing, the fear rolling in upon her as if she were ten years old again, climbing that endless shaft._

_Her hand bumped against something smooth and round, metal. A doorknob? She turned it. The door opened. Blinding light crashed against her, forcing her eyes shut. Furnace-like heat. The sun blazed against her skin. Silence around her still except for one sound—Bane’s mechanical breathing. Bane! She was safe!_

_Her eyelids popped open, her hand shielding the desert sun. A man stood before her, dark-skinned, black beard and eyes, younger than she, vaguely familiar, a knife in hand, a knife held at Bane’s throat._

_“Bane!” she cried, taking a step toward him but stopping when the knife-wielding Arab held up a hand. Then she recognized the man—Ibrahim Darzi._

_Bane knelt in the sand in front of Darzi, hands bound behind his back. Sunlight glinted upon the knife blade pressed against his thick neck. With a wave of Darzi’s other hand, Bane’s mask vanished. Talia gasped in fear of the pain its disappearance would cause Bane. Amazingly Bane’s face bore no scars, no mutilations. Instead his visage was as she remembered it from the day she climbed out of the pit—smooth skin, pillow-like lips, kind eyes, straight nose and sloping forehead._

_“Let him go!” she cried._

_Darzi said nothing, only leered at her, white teeth amidst coal-like beard._

_“Don’t be afraid,_ habibati _,” Bane calmly said._

_“I said let him go!”_

_Bane smiled mildly. “Good-bye.”_

_The knife sliced through his jugular._

_“No!”_

            Talia awoke from the nightmare with a gasp, sitting up in bed. Sweat rolled down her face, dampened her hair, made her chemise stick to her. She was alone in the room, which was lit only by a few large candles. The bed curtains had been left open when she and Bane had gone to sleep, to allow the cool night breeze to reach them through the open veranda doors. A glance at the clock beside their bed showed 0145. She gasped. Bane and Barsad were leaving for Pakistan at 0200. Had Bane already left? He was supposed to wake her when he was leaving. With heart pounding from the nightmare as well as the dread that Bane had already left, Talia threw back the sheet and rushed for the hallway leading to the bathroom.

            “Bane,” she called urgently.

            The bathroom was dark. Her fear heightened. No, he couldn’t be gone; she needed to talk to him, warn him, stop him. She wheeled and continued down the hallway, calling his name in the darkness.

            The door to his office opened, and Bane stepped into the hall, light spilling outward. He was dressed for travel.

            “Talia, what is it? What’s wrong?”

            “Bane! You’re still here.” She threw her arms around him and held him tightly, burying herself in his warmth and his scent.

            “What is it, _habibati_? What’s the matter? Are you unwell? Is it that babe?”

            Talia squeezed her eyes shut, tried to erase the horrible image of blood spurting from his neck and the sound of his sweet farewell from undamaged lips.

            “I was afraid you had left me.”

            “No, of course not. I promised I would wake you. Is that why you are upset?”

            She clung tighter to him. “No. I had a terrible dream. A premonition. You can’t go.”

            Bane chuckled and drew her slightly away so he could look at her face. “You have nothing to fear.”

            “I have everything to fear.”

            “Barsad will be there with me.”

            “It’s too dangerous. Let him serve in your stead.”

            “You know Darzi will meet with no one but me. Everything has been arranged. There is no going back.”

            “Please, Bane. I can’t lose you. _We_ can’t lose you. Think of your child.”

            “I am. I am thinking of both of you. That is why I am doing this, remember?”

            “There’s no need. To hell with immunity.”

            Bane took her face in his big hands, felt her trembling, spoke softly to calm her, “You must not upset yourself, _habibati_ ; it’s bad for you and the babe. You know I have been in many dangerous spots, but I am still here, am I not?”

            “But the nightmare…what I saw—”

            “Do not speak of it. It was nothing but a dream. And your fears are merely a product of hormones. There is no woman braver than you.”

            “I won’t let you leave.”

            He chuckled again. “Will you tie me up with yarn once more, my love?”

            “This isn’t a joke, Bane.”

            He drew her back into his arms. “I don’t mean to make light of your concerns, my dear. Forgive me. But I don’t want you to be afraid for me. I will come back. Always. Now, we must say farewell before Barsad arrives at our door or he will berate me all the way to the car for holding things up.”

            Bane pried her away, but she managed to cling to his hand as he headed down the hallway, her heart racing as she tried to figure out how to keep him here. At the door, he sat in a chair to put on his boots. Talia knelt before him to impede his effort.

            “Will you make me beg?” she said.

            “There is no need for such tactics, my dear. I must go.”

            She captured his hands in hers, brought them to her lips. Tears filled her eyes.

            “There is no need for those tactics either,” he chided.

            “It’s not a tactic. I’m afraid for you, for our child. You can’t go. As your commander, I order you to stay here.”

            A throaty laugh. “Have you forgotten that you have temporarily relinquished your authority to me, my love? I answer to know one but me.”

            “Then as the mother of your child, I demand that you stay here. Our child cannot lose his father before he is even born.”

            “ _She_ won’t.” Bane smiled gently and drew one hand from hers so he could wipe away her tears. “You must let me go, _habibati_. I must do this.”

            Talia had not felt this helpless since she was a child in the pit. The foreign sensation added to her grief and anxiety. The tears flowed stronger as the nightmare’s visions hounded her.

            “Remember when you climbed out of the pit and saw me waiting for you?” she said in a small voice, like the voice of that lost ten-year-old. “Remember?”

            He caressed her cheek. “Of course.”

            “When I saw you…what they had done to you…the blood and bandages…” She closed her eyes and shook her head.

            “Don’t, Talia.”

            “When I realized it was you…I knew your pain was because of me. And now…I don’t want to be the cause of it again if something happens out there.”

            “Nothing will happen.”

            A touch of anger flared, tightening her expression. “You don’t know that. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even be doing this. You came back from Dagestan without agreeing to find Darzi. It wasn’t until you knew I was pregnant that you signed the agreement. This is on me, just like the pit; I never should have climbed—I should have stayed with you, I shouldn’t have revealed what I really was. And at _’Eth Alth’eban_ I shouldn’t have slept with you, not until I was back on birth control.”

            Bane took her face in his hands again, gaze hardened. “You must stop this. Blaming yourself is pointless. Things happened as they should. How many times must I say these things? I made choices, too, in both of those situations. No one is to blame.”

            She buried her face in her hands, sank back against her heels. “I can’t do this without you, Bane.”

            “You won’t have to. I promise.”

            “I don’t _want_ to do it without you.”

            “Come here, my dove.” He drew her into his embrace and picked her up, carried her to their bed. He sat her on the edge of the mattress and settled beside her, still holding her hands as she silently wept, their gazes locked.

            “Please,” she whispered. “Stay.” She touched the mask’s grating. “I love you.”

            “There is no need to say such things now.”

            “I’m not just saying it; I mean it. I love you, truly love you. I’ve come to realize that since you returned from Dagestan. You are my life.”

            Bane stared at her, tried not to believe her, told himself this was just a ploy to bend him to her will. But looking into her eyes, he saw no deceit, only a desperate desire to make him believe her. Could this be true at last? Was it possible?

            “Again, your feminine hormones are dictating your words, my dear.”

            “No. You must believe me. And I can’t lose you, especially now that I have come to my senses about us. We don’t need immunity. We’ve survived all these years in the shadows; we can remain there.”

            “It is different now—Gordon revealed your true identity to the world, and my face is known by all because of Gotham. The shadows don’t hold their old protective power. We have notoriety…and we have a child. Do you truly want your child to grow up, wondering if her parents will be taken from her? I can’t allow it, Talia; _we_ can’t allow it.”

            A knock at the door. Barsad. “Bane? Are you ready?”

            “One moment, brother,” he called, then winked at Talia and muttered, “The man is always late, but of course right now he is actually punctual.”

            Talia knew his levity was a defense, a way to deflect the seriousness of this moment and her confession of love.

            “You don’t believe me,” she murmured. “I can’t blame you, considering my behavior over the years. But I am sincere. And if you stay, I will prove it.”

            He smiled and leaned his forehead against hers, her hand on the side of his mask, his against her drying cheek. “You may prove it when I return, my love.”

            She swallowed, tried to banish the nightmare from her mind. “Even I can’t defeat you. So I must somehow believe Ibrahim Darzi can’t either.”

            “Yes, you must because it is time for me to go.”

            Talia knew that if even her declaration of love for him, no matter how authentic, could not keep him here, then nothing else could, not sobbing, not pleading, not threatening. She had to let him go, just as she had to let him go that day in the pit when she had climbed. And, like that day long ago, she had to believe that they would be reunited, that he would be there when she gave birth to his child. And that she could indeed convince him of her love.


	22. Chapter 22

            The Federally Administered Tribal Areas of Pakistan, known as FATA, is a lawless, mountainous region that stretches along the western border with Afghanistan for hundreds of kilometers. Bane had been there several times before, the most memorable one an invitation from Osama bin Laden himself many years ago. Most of the world’s Islamic terrorist organizations operate there, among them the Taliban and Al Qaeda, training and hiding in the rugged valleys and mountains.

            The valley road that the League’s three-vehicle convey bumped along in the pale pink morning light was little more than a rock-strewn path, bordered on either side by foothills. Beyond rose barren mountains of the same dull brown. There were eyes up there watching them, Bane knew, hidden and relaying information to Ibrahim Darzi’s men at the rendezvous point to the north. The League, of course, also had men in elevated positions.

            Barsad drove the Land Rover, Bane in the passenger seat, and two operatives in the back seat—both Chechans who had served under Bane in their home country years ago and ever since. They had driven silently for some time now, but Bane sensed Barsad’s unrest growing and was not surprised when his lieutenant took up the familiar argument once again.

            “I should be in that cave with you, God damn it.”

            With a wily lift of an eyebrow, Bane glanced at Pasha Umarov in the back seat. “Fear not, Deadshot; Pasha is a capable man.”

            Umarov barked a dry laugh and spoke in Russian, “I see Deadshot still clucks like a hen over you.”

            Barsad responded in Russian before Bane could even open his mouth, “This clucking hen dragged Bane’s sorry ass out of Gotham alive, didn’t I?”

            “And I will drag his sorry ass out of that Waziristan cave we are going to, rest assured, brother,” Umarov said. “Remember I was on that plane during our extraction of Dr. Pavel while you stayed safe and warm on the ground.”

            Everyone in the Land Rover chuckled except Barsad.

            “If you remember, Umarov,” Barsad growled, “I volunteered to go then, too. Same damn results, though. He never fucking listens to me.”

            “Being out of the field so long has made you prickly, brother,” Umarov said.

            “Tell me about it,” Barsad muttered.

            Silence returned. Though Bane tried to remain focused on the mission, he found his thoughts returning to Rajasthan, to Talia. He cursed his weakness, for he knew the distraction could prove dangerous. But he could not get Talia’s proclamation of love out of his mind and heart. She had seemed so sincere, and considering the gravity of the situation here today he could not imagine that she would say something like that just to manipulate him. The prospect of her truly loving him made him smile behind the mask, an expression conveniently hidden from Barsad. He had said nothing to his lieutenant about Talia’s declaration because he knew Barsad would discount it as pure exploitation on her part.

            Bane did wonder, however, if Talia’s feelings were fueled by her pregnancy and the storm of hormones that went with such a state. His cautious side told him that he should believe this to be the reason and none other. But could the woman who had played Miranda Tate for so long and who had been with so many men truly love him and no other? His heart was as hard as could be except when it came to Talia or her grandmother, but if Talia’s love was indeed only conditional and would fade along with her maternal hormones, he knew the wound left behind could very well destroy him. It would be like Selena Kyle’s blast to the chest all over again, only this time he would have no desire to regain consciousness.

            He berated his selfishness—he had no business thinking he would willfully forfeit his life for any reason, not when there would soon be a child, his child, Talia’s child depending on him. Truth be told, his reason for having Barsad outside of the cave where he would meet with Darzi was not merely because of Barsad’s unsurpassed marksmanship required for this mission. No, he needed Barsad alive, to care for his family should something go wrong today and he not walk out of that cave. Bane figured Barsad had guessed as much and that was an added reason for his lieutenant’s churlishness.

            Bane was confident his friend would make an excellent foster father for his daughter, though he knew Barsad would disagree. His lieutenant’s patience and kindness with Sanjana bolstered Bane’s belief. Though he enjoyed teasing Barsad about his chaste relationship with the girl, Bane also admired him for his conduct. He knew it was not an easy task for Barsad to deny himself the pleasures of the flesh for as long as he had. With Sanjana’s double traumas, there was a strong possibility the young woman might never recover enough to ever have a satisfying, healthy physical relationship with a man. Barsad knew this yet still spent most of his evenings with her.

            Though very familiar with Barsad’s and Talia’s differences, Bane knew the two did indeed love one another and because of that love, as well as their affection for him, they would work together to ensure the welfare of the baby.

            The sun had not yet shone its face over the mountain’s jagged shoulders by the time they reached the rendezvous point. However, enough of its light spilled over into the shallow valley to reveal a dozen armed men standing near three battered and dusty SUVs, dressed in worn _perahan tunban_ , the common dress of Pashtun men. As Bane’s vehicle came into view, the passenger door of one of the vehicles opened to reveal another man.

            “That’s him,” Barsad said. “That’s Darzi. And there’s Abrams standing behind him.”

            The sight of his old friend both eased and concerned Bane. He had given his men strict orders to preserve Abrams at all costs.

             Several of Darzi’s men arrayed themselves in a line before their commander, AK47s at the ready. A militant perched in the bed of the nearest vehicle had Bane’s Land Rover in the sights of his .57 caliber Soviet-made machine gun, as did another man with a rocket propelled grenade launcher on his shoulder.

            “Let’s get this party started, gentlemen,” Barsad said as Umarov handed him his rifle from the backseat.

            Barsad’s keen eyes had swept the entire area, noting every little detail possible of both their opponents and the surrounding landscape. Once this location’s coordinates had been relayed days earlier to the League, his brothers had thoroughly scouted the area, using satellite imaging as well as two operatives on the ground. Now he stepped out into the chilly morning and hoped for no surprises.

            Once Darzi saw Bane emerge from the car, he stepped forward, passing between two militants whose eyes had widened at the sight of Gotham’s Reckoning in the flesh. Due to his stature, Bane was easy enough to recognize even with his famous mask hidden by a faded red shemagh. Their veiled looks of awe made Bane’s chest swell with pride beneath his protective vest as he strutted forward to meet Darzi.

            “So it is true,” Ibrahim Darzi said in Arabic with a slight sneer amidst his full beard. “The Masked Man lives. This adds credence to the legend that you are immortal.”

            “Legend?” Bane parried. “Perhaps it is not a legend at all, but truth.”

            Darzi chuckled coldly. “Perhaps we will find out today.”

            Bane found the Saudi to look the same in person as he did in photographs—average build with dark, curly hair beneath a faded blue _pakol_ , and sharp, calculating eyes of brown. The weather-beaten nature of his complexion made him appear older than his twenty-eight years. Though Darzi’s clothing and ethnicity blended him with his companions, he had a different bearing, subtle but distinct, that of an educated man. And educated he was. He had graduated top in his class from the college of engineering sciences and applied engineering at the King Fahd University of Petroleum & Minerals in his native Saudi Arabia, with multiple degrees, including one in chemical engineering. His father owned an oil empire and had ties to the Saudi royal family, a powerful man who had publicly disavowed any knowledge of his son’s operations.

            Darzi turned and gestured for Abrams to join him. A third man stepped forward with Abrams. All Bane could see of this man’s face were lifeless killer’s eyes above a black shemagh. No sign of awe in this one. The rifle he carried looked as spotless as a treasured vase. Bane wryly thought, _A man after Barsad’s heart. Hopefully he lacks Barsad’s abilities_.

            Bane gave Abrams nothing more than a dismissive glance. He saw no nervousness in Abrams’s gaze. No, his old friend would not fear death; he had already looked it squarely in the eyes and defied it for years in the pit. And he had no family to mourn him or miss his financial support. A man with nothing to lose—the perfect intelligence agent.

            Darzi swept an arm toward the closest foothill where a cave lay hidden from above by a rocky overhang. A viper’s nest, one of Darzi’s hiding places and his base of operations in the region. “Shall we talk business over a cup of tea?” Darzi said with false pleasantness, then his expression fell into mock distress. “My apologies. With that heinous mask of yours, I’m assuming you can’t partake.”

            Bane showed no reaction, nor felt any. “I have come with a purpose, not a thirst. Let us waste no more time.”

            “As you wish.” Darzi surveyed Bane’s forces. “You may bring one man with you. He may carry a pistol; that is all.”

            “And you?”

            “I am unarmed. You may search me if you do not believe me. You are unarmed as well, I’m guessing. Legend says the Masked Man prefers to use his hands to kill a man, that he never carries a gun.” Darzi’s glance flicked to Barsad. “He has others for that, as do I.” The Arab placed a hand on the shoulder of the militant next to him. “Kaleem will accompany me, also armed only with a pistol. Our brother Samir will come, too.” He gestured to Abrams. “He will be the first to die if this proves to be a trap.”

            “It is a shame you cannot trust your own men,” Bane said.

            Darzi grinned like the wolf for which he was nicknamed. “In my line of work, trust can be a liability. I would think you would understand this.”

            “I obviously choose my men more wisely.”

            Darzi chuckled. “Come. Let us go inside before our American friends send a drone our way. How they would love to kill both of us at once, yes?”

            Barsad watched Umarov accompany Bane to the cave, and once again he cursed inwardly that he was not going in the Chechen’s stead.

            From the outside, the cave appeared small, having an entranceway that required even an average-sized man to stoop to enter; Bane had to double over. But Bane knew the opening was deceiving—the interior broadened and progressed into the hillside to a number of chambers that housed communications, arms, provisions, and sleeping space. No sounds greeted Bane as he entered; the agreement was for the cave to be empty of all but those involved in the meeting.

            Darzi noted the questioning glance between Bane and Umarov. “You may search, if you like. You will find we are alone.”

            “There is no need,” Bane said. “I trust that my brother and I will be able to handle any treachery should you decide to betray us.”

            “And why would I do that?” The Arab showed no insult over Bane’s words. “You and I should be allies. After all, we want the same thing.”

            “We both want Gotham destroyed, true enough,” Bane growled. “But beyond that, the League has no interest in indiscriminate murder for the sake of a religion.”

            “If you think jihad is my only motivation, then you know little about me, my friend. I offer a service to the world. There are countries who hate the West, countries who are willing to fund my enterprises so that I may destroy their enemies while they keep their hands clean.” He gestured to woven mats on the cave floor. “Please, sit.”

            As Bane settled on the mat, he said, “Your funding comes from more than foreign governments and fringe groups, Darzi. I am no fool. While the intelligence agencies of the world flounder to find proof of your father’s involvement in your operations, we already have it.”

            Darzi scowled. “Then I would say your intelligence is faulty, my friend.”

            “And I would say you are a fool to believe we are anything but thorough and resourceful.” He pointed at Darzi’s henchman, Kaleem, who sat with pistol resting not so casually against his thigh. “And I would say you wisely believe you can’t trust anyone, especially when it comes to your family.”

            A brief flash of alarm on Darzi’s face as he glanced at Kaleem, who glowered at Bane, nostrils flaring.

            Bane chuckled. “I am not accusing your man of deceit. No, I am referring to members of your _blood_ family.”

            Darzi glared at Bane but quickly recovered to use disdainful amusement in his tone, “Again, I would say your intelligence is faulty. Perhaps your network is slipping since your momentous failure in Gotham.”

            “A temporary setback. One that you will help rectify. Our agreement today, after all, will be mutually beneficial. Why else would we be here, exposing ourselves to great danger?”

            Darzi eyed him. “And how do I know you can deliver? It is not so easy to hide a ballistic missile. I need proof that you have such a weapon.”

            “Of course.” He reached beneath his shirt, moving slowly while Kaleem watched with laser focus and deadly intent. Bane produced a small tablet with an attached satellite antenna. Once the link was established, he spoke to his operative on the display, who was located in _’Eth_ _Alth’eban_. “Are you reading me, brother? I am here with our friend.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Show him our gift.”

            Bane handed the tablet to Darzi whose eyes had taken on an eager light. Bane caught a glimpse of Abrams’s wondering, alarmed expression. Obviously his old friend had doubted the missile’s existence.

            As Darzi watched the screen, Bane’s thoughts turned to his internal clock. Barsad would be moving into position, reaching into the Land Rover for the RPG-7. He had given his men enough time to offer cigarettes and conversation to Darzi’s men, to lull them into comfort, to draw them close.

            Bane glanced at Abrams, relieved the man was sitting farthest into the cave. Abrams was watching Darzi whose eyes were glistening with joy over what he was seeing on the screen.

            “Fateh-110,” Bane said to Darzi. “We have modified the boosters to provide greater range.”

            “How much greater?”

            “An additional hundred kilometers. You will also find its targeting highly accurate.”

            Darzi finally looked up from the tablet. “You are friends with the Iranians, then?”

            Bane smirked. “Friends would be a misleading term.”

            “How did you come by such a weapon?” For the first time, there was true respect in Darzi’s voice.

            “Of course you know I will not tell you.”

            Darzi grinned slyly. “Of course.” He handed back the tablet, which Umarov took.

            “Do we agree upon the target?” Bane asked.

            Darzi leaned back against the cave wall, studied Bane for a long moment. “Tell me something, Masked Man. How did you survive and escape Gotham? Most agree it was a near impossible undertaking.”

            “Yet here I am.”

            Darzi nodded, his grin having died to something close to a sneer. “Yes, here you are.” His hands rested upon his knees where he sat cross-legged. “Perhaps you had help…and I don’t mean from your mercenary comrades.”

            Bane stared at Darzi, hiding his irritation.

            “Be careful what you imply,” Umarov growled.

            “Imply?” Darzi’s heavy eyebrows raised. “I will say it plainly, then. Perhaps the Americans helped you in exchange for something else.”

            “I will ignore your insult,” Bane rumbled, “for now. But make that accusation again, and you will never see that missile, nor will you leave this cave alive.”

            Darzi cocked his head. “If you will not answer the question I posed, then perhaps you will answer a different one. Just to satisfy my personal curiosity.” He leaned forward and smiled coldly. “What happened to the woman? The one you followed nearly to your death in Gotham. Talia al Ghūl. The daughter of another legend. A beautiful woman with the heart of a warrior. Is it true her mother was a Muslim?”

            Bane heard the distant discharge of the RPG. In a split second the world around them exploded. He crashed against Umarov. Falling rocks, a gunshot, muffled outcries, darkness, pain.

            Stunned for only a second, Bane sat up, ears ringing. The mouth of the cave had been sealed—Barsad, flawless as always in his aim. Faint gunfire beyond the wall of rock. Tiny pinpoints of light reached inward, but it was not enough to help a man unaccustomed to seeing in the dark. Bane, however, had been born and raised in such murky darkness. And he saw exactly what he needed to see.

            He lurched across the small space that separated him from Darzi, landed upon the dazed Arab who was groping about, groaning. Bane’s hands wrapped around Darzi’s neck, squeezed. His victim had little time to resist before Bane crushed his windpipe.

            A blow struck Bane from the right, from where Kaleem had last been seen, but Bane held fast to Darzi to ensure he was indeed dead. Then the dull thump of body against body, and Kaleem fell away. A struggle in the rock-strewn dirt. Grunts, blows. A gunshot illuminated the cave, flashed against Kaleem and Abrams locked together, then…silence and darkness, followed by the moaning sigh of a man dying, the fall of a body.

            Momentarily blinded by the flash, Bane held Darzi and spun on one knee to cover his right flank. But no further blows came his way. He listened. The gunfire beyond the cave continued, sporadic now. Here in the dark the only sound was that of a man breathing heavily, a wounded man.

            “Umarov?” Bane quietly said.

            “Oh…fuck,” the wounded man said. Abrams.

            No response from Umarov. No movement from Kaleem. Bane checked the militant. Dead. His hands found Abrams sitting against the cave wall.

            “Fuck,” Abrams rasped again.

            Bane’s hand met the bloody wound in his friend’s side.

            “Are they dead?” Abrams asked.

            “Yes. You are bleeding profusely. Lie still.”

            From the other side of the cave, Umarov groaned and stirred.

            “Kaleem’s weapon discharged when the round hit,” Abrams panted. “But I paid the bastard back.”

            “I don’t feel an exit wound,” Bane said. “Umarov, are you injured?”

            “Just a knock on the head, sir. Can’t hear too well.”

            “Come over here and apply pressure to Abrams’s wound while I fashion a bandage.”

            As Bane tore away a swath of cloth from Kaleem’s body, Abrams asked, “What the hell happened?”

            “Barsad fired an RPG into the overhang above the cavemouth.”

            “Why the fuck did he do that?”

            “He was isolating us so I could eliminate our target without interference from Darzi’s men.”

            “Well, it sounds like Darzi’s men aren’t too happy about it.”

            “Have no fear, old friend. Our brothers will make quick work of Darzi’s minions. Then they will dig us out of here. Now, you must conserve your strength and not speak. We have medical supplies in the vehicles, and we will evacuate you for treatment.”

            “If I don’t bleed to death first.”

            “I will not allow that to happen.”

            “You can’t control everything, Bane.”

            “I told you not to speak.”

            “I don’t take orders from you.” He coughed out a laugh.

            “Today you do, if you want to live.”

            While Bane bandaged Abrams, Umarov shone a small flashlight on his work.

            “The shooting has stopped,” Umarov spoke the obvious.

            “We’d better hope it’s your men who dig us out of here,” Abrams said.

            A moment later Barsad’s voice came through one of the tiny openings in the debris wall: “Bane?”

            “We are in one piece, brother, but Abrams has been shot. Call for assistance. He needs to be airlifted.”

            “Airlifted?” Abrams choked out another laugh. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

            “A helicopter has been standing by at the airstrip outside of Razmak for just such an emergency. A quick trip over the mountains and it will be here.”

            “Then what?”

            “That determination will be made once you can be properly examined. You will be taken some place safe, rest assured, old friend. When your body isn’t found by Darzi’s people, you will be a suspect, and they might hunt you.”

            Bane listened to the sounds of his men on the other side of the stone wall, working feverishly to free them. Considering the severity of Abrams’s wound, Bane hoped his brothers’ efforts would not be in vain.


	23. Chapter 23

            Talia glanced at the clock on the wall. 0300. When would Bane return? Sometime tonight, he had said. But when? She sighed and stared at the television—news coverage of the death of _Al Thi’b_ , first announced by the United States some twenty-four hours ago. The Americans claimed Darzi had been killed in a raid by Navy Seals and had provided photos of the dead Saudi—taken after the League turned over the body—as well as other evidence as proof to the world. Talia smirked at the deceptive story woven by the CIA. Fools. The world should know only Bane could bring down Darzi. His actions had saved the lives of thousands of people around the world, but no one would ever know, just as no one knew all that the League of Shadows had done for civilization down through the centuries.

            Of course Bane had not killed Darzi for those countless others around the globe, nor had he done it even for himself. No, he had done it for her. His contract with the Americans had been fulfilled, and now they were untouchable, at least for their operations in Gotham. Many other operations carried out by the League in the past were viewed as illegal by many countries, but the covert nature of such missions left no admissible or traceable evidence in their wake, unlike Gotham. There would still be those who wanted them dead, including agents of various governments who would operate without overt sanctions now that the immunity documents revealed that she and Bane indeed lived. So they would still need protection, they would still live in the shadows. But at least the shadows were a little safer now, thanks to Bane.

            He had phoned her after the operation, his tone business-like but with a hint of smugness as he told her he had killed Darzi with his own hands, as he had promised. She had smiled with pride, remembering him as a younger man at their mountain home when he would return from a successful mission and proudly describe it to her. He would never show any emotion when reporting to her father after such operations; he shared his feelings only with her. She loved listening to him describe every detail, loved seeing his self-confidence grow. Her admiration for him had flowered even more. His stories always made her eager to grow up and use her training in the field.

            Bane told her about Abrams’s wound only after she had inquired of their friend’s safety during the assault. He had wanted to hide it from her, but she had sensed something in his tone that betrayed concern.

            “I am in Layyah. He is in surgery at a hospital here. I will remain in our safe house until he is out of surgery and stabilized. Please speak to your grandmother and acquire her permission for us to transport him back to the palace. I fear for his safety because of his involvement in Darzi’s death. The absence of his body at the site will raise suspicions among Darzi’s followers.”

            “Of course. Don’t worry about _Jiddah_ ; she will allow it.”

            “No doubt, but we must still ask her permission. It is only right.”

            “I know. Please don’t take any chances while you’re in Layyah, _habibi_. You could always leave Barsad there for Abrams and come ahead of them.”

            “I could, but I feel I should stay.”

            “I understand. Just be careful. Let me know how the surgery goes.”

            “I shall. Good-bye, _habibati_. I will see you soon.”

            Talia turned off the television now, deciding to return to bed. These times when Bane was away, she found sleeping difficult. The tension she had carried until hearing of the mission’s success and Bane’s safety had made her toss and turn in bed. When the same happened tonight, she knew part of her unrest was her anticipation of seeing him again, as well as her old friend Abrams. She hoped the wound would not prove troublesome. Bane’s solicitousness for Abrams made her smile as she crawled between the silk sheets.

            Abrams had lived in the cell next to Bane’s, but Talia had paid him little heed until after her mother’s death. She remembered him keeping mainly to himself, yet knew he had kept a close eye on her and Bane whenever they ventured out of their cell. When Bane read Shakespeare to her, Abrams used to complain, which always made her giggle. Talia would never forget what he had done for Bane after she had escaped. Bane had told her how, without Abrams’s help, he would have died after the attack. Abrams not only ensured that the morphine-addicted doctor gave painkilling drugs to Bane, but he watched over Bane until they were rescued.

            Talia settled deep into her pillow and sighed, closing her eyes. The tinkle of falling water in the Zen fountain on the other side of the room soothed her, and she focused on that as well as the rhythm of her breathing. Eventually she drifted off.

            When she awoke, the room was still quiet, but something was different. She stared through the thin darkness toward the door. Was that dark lump Bane’s pack? Just then the distant sound of the shower running chased away the cobwebs of sleep. She threw back the sheet and rushed through the suite in her chemise, her heart racing with joy.

            Bane was just stepping from the shower and reaching for his towel when she burst in. His tired eyes brightened, and a smile broke across his exposed face as she rushed to him.

            “ _Habibati_ ,” he chided as she embraced him, “I am all wet.”

            “I don’t care. You’re home. You’re safe.”

            He chuckled. “Let me dry off. Go back to bed, little mouse. I will be there in a moment.”

            Talia raised her face to him for a kiss. He happily obliged, holding her tight, reveling in the feel of her breasts against his chest through her chemise’s wet silk. When they parted, he drew her lingerie over her head and handed her his towel.

            “Dry yourself, my love. I will fetch another towel.”

            Once he was dry, Bane drew her back into his arms and kissed her. “Come, let us go to bed. I am weary.”

            Donning the mask, he breathed in a deep draught of vapor, smiled at her where she waited for him at the door. He went to her, put an arm around her and drew her tight to his side before they started down the hallway.

            “How is Abrams?” she asked.

            “A bit weak still, but I am confident he will improve now that he’s here. Barsad is seeing to his comfort now in my old room where I recuperated.”

            “Should I visit him tonight or wait until morning?”

            “The morning will be soon enough. Rest is what he needs right now, as do I.” He smiled again at her as they entered the bedroom. “Most importantly, though, how are you, my dear? I hope the morning sickness did not trouble you too much while I was gone.”

            “Just a couple of mild bouts.”

            “I will be relieved when such discomfort is past for you.”

            “It can’t happen soon enough.”

            “I feel that I must apologize for causing such distress.”

            She chuckled. “Nonsense. I had a part in getting pregnant, too, you know.”

            They crawled between the sheets and lay close, Bane’s arms around her, his clean, masculine scent winding through her senses, making her purr with contentment.

            “Seeing Abrams after so many years,” Bane murmured, “may stir in you more unwanted memories of the pit. If you prefer not to run that risk, I will tell him. He would understand. The pit still haunts him as well. He bears its scars quite openly, unlike you.”

            “I’m not afraid. Seeing him will be a happy occasion. He meant a lot to us, especially to you. But we should remember that he is a special agent for the German government. Need I ask that you trust him?”

            “I wouldn’t have brought him here if I didn’t. My previous interrogation made me confident that his work for the Germans is merely a job, one that serves to give him purpose. I fear he has had little else but his work since your father rescued him. And remember, we saved his life twice now. He is an honorable man who would never forget such a thing. Recall that he could have told the world about our past lives once we took control of Gotham, yet he did not.” Bane stroked her hair. “I thought I might talk to your grandmother about allowing him to remain here, if he chooses, to be a part of her personal security detail.”

            “What a wonderful idea, _habibi_.” She kissed his shoulder. “We’ll talk to _Jiddah_ about it tomorrow.”

            “I think he and Barsad have taken a liking to one another. They are similar in many ways, especially their penchant for harassing me.”

            “Mama used to say Abrams was like an uncle to you.”

            “Indeed she did. Remember how Abrams used to secretly watch over us whenever we would go to the stepwell? He kept out of sight as much as possible, but I knew what he was doing. I never mentioned it to him, though, because he would have denied it and perhaps been irritated enough by my observation that he would have stopped.”

            Talia sighed and trailed a finger back and forth on his chest. “I hope he stays here. Perhaps it would heal him, as it’s healed us.”

            “Perhaps.”

            “Have you told him about the baby?”

            “No. For now, that is best kept a secret. If he stays, he will learn of it soon enough.”

            Talia pillowed her head on his chest, listened to his strong heartbeat. It was so wonderful to have him close again, a muscular mountain of security and solace. The suite had seemed ridiculously large without him. She had considered sleeping in her grandmother’s room when he was away, but she did not want Maysam to know the level of her anxiety over his safety.

            “I hope you weren’t troubled by any further nightmares while I was away,” Bane murmured.

            “No,” she lied.

            “I have never seen you in such a state as you were when I left for Pakistan, my dear. You worried me. You must think of your child.”

            “ _Our_ child.” She looked up at him, enjoyed the happiness in his eyes. Her finger trailed along the mask. “You believe in our child, but you don’t believe in my love for you, even though I have declared it.”

            “Talia—”

            “I don’t blame you for not believing me. I have treated you abhorrently over these past years.”

            “You have done no such thing.”

            “During these past weeks here, I’ve come to fully realize we are destined to be together. How could it be any other way after all that we’ve endured together? No other man will ever understand me or love me with the depth of love that you have for me. And no man can ever compare to you, physically or intellectually. I was foolish to ever believe I could settle for anything less, like Dominic LePage.”

            He studied her in maddening, indulgent silence. She saw how much he wanted to believe her but could not. And she saw the past hurt that he always denied.

            Talia sighed in frustration. “If you won’t believe me when I tell you that I love you, then I will dedicate myself to showing you.”

            Her draped leg began languidly rubbing against his manhood, needing little effort to arouse him even more than he already had been since their first embrace tonight. She bathed his neck in kisses, drawing a growl of satisfaction from behind the mask. Bane’s fingers played with her hair and trailed along her back, summoning delight beneath his touch. Talia’s ministrations progressed down his body. Lips, tongue, teeth, fingers all working in concert to pleasure him. She slowly rubbed against him, slicking his skin with the wetness between her legs. When his hand dipped between her thighs to sample her honey and tease her, she gasped and moaned. But this moment was for him, not her, so she continued down his body until she reached his erection.

            First she used her hands, gliding her fingers up and down his length, ever so gently, tantalizingly caressing the smooth silkiness of his head. Pre-ejaculate glistened and lubricated her fingers. Bane fairly squirmed beneath her in anticipation, his eyes now closed as he savored her touch. Her fingers slipped downward to tease his testicles while her mouth opened wide to envelope his expansive girth. He groaned, his fingers again entwined in her hair, flexing, encouraging. Her tongue moved with slow strokes, but she could read his eagerness and so did not torment him long. As she moved up and down, she could feel him fighting to hold back, to prolong the moment. Her efforts quickened, her hands working their magic in concert with her mouth as his hips moved against her.

            Bane said something in a deep growling groan, something she could not decipher, something primal. His fist tightened amidst her hair, almost painful. Then, he could hold back no longer and instead surrendered to her erotic assault.

#

            Sanjana wondered if the timing of _Al Thi’b’s_ death and the return of Bane and Barsad with an injured comrade was a coincidence. She was unsure why she would even believe the two things were related, especially when their departure and return could be attributed to one of any number of secret reasons. Something about the satisfaction on Maysam’s face that morning when she was watching the continuing news coverage about Ibrahim Darzi. Maysam’s reaction over the terrorist’s death went beyond mere hatred for the terrorist. There was a proud tilt to her chin and a curve to her lips that Sanjana saw only when Maysam was discussing Bane and Barsad. Sanjana wondered if she would see that same pride on Barsad’s face when she took his morning coffee to his room.

            During the week before Barsad’s latest departure, Sanjana had seen little of him. Her duties to her mistress and Amir’s mourners kept her busy all day and exhausted by evening. Her only time with Barsad had been in the mornings when she took him coffee, and even then she had to rush off, leaving no time for more than a few pleasantries.

            The last evening before he and Bane had left, Barsad had spent most of those hours sequestered with his commander in Bane’s office. He had returned to his room just as Sanjana was dropping off his before-bedtime snack, but she did not linger nor did he ask her to stay. His expression was unusually ambiguous, his thoughts obviously far away, filled with whatever he and Bane had discussed. His seriousness worried her, especially when he told her that he would be leaving during the night.

            Somehow she had gathered the courage to ask, “Will you be coming back?”

            His tight smile and response of, “I hope so,” had not left her encouraged. His somber mood had been reflected by both Maysam and Talia in the following days, further concerning Sanjana. So when Maysam told her that Barsad and Bane were on their way back to the palace, she had breathed a sigh of relief and offered a prayer of thanksgiving.

            “They are bringing a colleague with them,” Maysam said. “He has been injured and will need tending. Hisham will see to his needs, so you will attend to some of his duties with my granddaughter and Haris.”

            “Yes, madam.”

            “You will tell no one of this man’s presence.”

            “No, madam.”

            Though curious about the wounded stranger, Sanjana was far more interested in Barsad’s arrival. When she awoke this morning, Hisham had told her of Bane and Barsad’s return. With trembling eagerness, she now hurried to Barsad’s room with his coffee.

            On her way down the long hallway, Sanjana again thought of the brief kiss they had shared after Amir’s death. Her boldness had taken her by surprise, but afterwards she had not regretted her actions, especially when she later learned that he was leaving. Barsad had made no mention of the kiss in the few days before he left, yet she sensed his reticence about their intimacy was born of caution, not repulsion. Lying in her bed at night, she would close her eyes and remember the brief union of their lips, the taste of him, the close scent, the tickle of air from his nostrils. And she feared that he may not return from whatever dangerous work he was about.

            At his door, she skillfully balanced the tray and knocked softly. “Good morning, Mr. Barsad. I have brought your coffee.”

            A pause, then a distant call, “Come in, Sanjana.”

            Entering, she found him in his robe, lounging on the sofa, watching the morning news. His hair was still wet from his shower. His sunny smile washed away all her anxieties left over from his absence.

            “Good morning,” she said, setting down the coffee.

            “Good morning.”

            She poured him a cup, black as always, and he leaned forward to take it from her. “You are up earlier than I expected,” she said. “Hisham told me you arrived very late.”

            “I’m having breakfast with Maysam, and we both know she won’t adjust her schedule to meet mine.” He winked.

            Sanjana glanced at the television. More coverage about _Al Thi’b_. “They say American special forces killed Darzi.”

            “Yes.” His gaze was back on the TV, revealing nothing.

            She could not help herself. “Was it just a coincidence that you were away when Darzi was killed?”

            Barsad turned, as if remembering himself. “What makes you ask such a thing?”

            She shrugged. “All this time and no government has been able to take him down. It would make sense that an organization such as yours would have success where others have failed.”

            “The League has nothing to do with American special forces.”

            “Perhaps the Americans are only taking credit for what someone else did.”

            Barsad smiled and sipped his coffee. “You do have quite the imagination, Sanjana.” He gestured to a chair. “Why don’t you sit down and have a cup?”

            “I must see to breakfast.” The disappointment on his face pleased her. “John.” She hesitated, wondered if she should squelch her curiosity.

            “What is it?”

            Sanjana frowned, gathered her courage, forced herself to meet his intent gaze. “I want you to know…you can trust me.”

            Barsad considered her. “It’s not about trust, Sanjana. It’s about safety—your safety. The less you know about our work, the better off you’ll be.”

            “Very well.” Though his words eased some of her hurt over his evasiveness, she still wished he would share more of himself with her. “Whomever killed Darzi, I’m glad of it, and the world owes them a debt of gratitude.” She gave him a tight smile. “I will see you at breakfast, then.”

            Barsad followed her to the door, but he did not open it for her like he often did. Instead he partially blocked her way, his hand on the knob. The usual good nature had returned to his eyes, showing mischief there.

            “You know, when you thought I’d killed Amir, you thanked me with a kiss.” He grinned. “Well, maybe I did kill Darzi.”

            Sanjana blushed, dropping her gaze to his chest where the opening of his robe revealed a few curls of dark hair. He smelled so good after his shower; she wanted to crawl inside his robe.

            “But maybe you didn’t kill him,” she parried, looking up at him to enjoy his broadening grin, those straight blunt teeth.

            “We can pretend.”

            “Madam will grow angry with my tardiness. I will tell her it’s your fault. Must I kiss you before you will allow me to continue on with my duties?”

            “If that’s what works, yeah.” His eyes squinted with delight at their game.

            “Then you leave me no choice.”

            But Sanjana waited, merely taking a step closer. She wanted him to initiate this, not only to prove that he was indeed not repelled by her for what Amir had done but because she needed to know if a man’s advance would frighten her, if it would dissipate her tenuous courage like a strong breeze through thin fog.

            Barsad caressed her cheek, his hand drifting down to cup her chin, his smile never fading. His other hand pushed a tendril of black hair behind her ear, his touch sending a delightful shiver through her. Then he bent to kiss her, gentle at first, then with more hunger. She offered no resistance, and his arms slipped around her. Sanjana’s knees weakened, causing her to lean into him for balance. She sensed his awareness, knew he would retreat the minute she hesitated, so she made sure she did not. Instead she embraced him, allowed him to kiss her deeper, his tongue probing. Never before had she been kissed this way. The closeness of their bodies betrayed his erection. A sudden warm gush between her legs surprised her, for no man had ever summoned such a response from her.

            Barsad pulled slightly away. “Are you okay?”

            “Yes,” she said breathlessly, slightly unnerved. “Yes, but…I should go.”

            He freed her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

            “Yes.” She smiled and touched his face. He put his hand over her hand. The hunger in his eyes left no doubt that he considered her nothing but desirable. Her smile widened, and she kissed him again, lingering only a moment before whispering, “I have to go.”

            “I wish you wouldn’t.”

            He held her hand captive for a moment, then squeezed it and allowed her to leave.


	24. Chapter 24

            Abrams awoke to a chorus of birds somewhere nearby, strange calls that didn’t match anything he was used to hearing in any of the countries he had spent his sixty-odd years of life. He couldn’t remember how old he really was. _Too damn old_ , he thought, as he considered his body aches when he cracked his eyelids to morning light streaming in through open veranda doors to his right. There were birds perched on the veranda railing, and some hopping about on the tiles, pecking at obscure morsels. Lying on his back in bed, he grunted with the effort it took to crane his neck, trying to see what lay beyond the veranda. Only a sky of pink and blue, with brushes of gold. Obviously he was several floors up. He tried to remember arriving last night, but the drugs made his memories vague. Well, considering the décor of his room, Bane must have made good on his promise of bringing him to Talia’s grandmother’s place. Obviously Talia’s grandmother was fucking loaded.

            Considering where Bane had grown up, Abrams almost laughed at the irony but knew laughter would cause him physical pain, so he refrained. Instead he took stock of his surroundings, noting every potential escape route, if needed. The large room’s walls were a soothing dark yellow, not quite gold, with colorful Persian rugs on the rich wood flooring. No photographs in frames anywhere, but several paintings, depicting Middle Eastern life, contemporary as well as historical. Gilded mirrors on two walls. A ceiling fan above him, breathing down a comfortable flow of air.

            He listened but heard nothing except the chattering birds. Where was Bane? Still in bed maybe? No, Abrams had a feeling his old prison mate was one of those lunatics who was always up before the dawn.

            Abrams sighed and closed his eyes, enjoyed the spacious bed. It had been a long time since he had slept in a comfortable bed. While a part of Darzi’s network, he slept either on a mat or on a bare mattress on the floor of his Brussels’ flat. Before that, in Germany, his bachelor’s pad had nothing more than a futon. But all of that had been heaven compared to that fucking charpoy in that damp, stinking, freezing pit prison.

            Memories of the pit tried to creep in upon him, but he fought them away, reached for the remote control to turn on the 55-inch TV across the room to provide a distraction.

            He had to admit he looked forward to seeing Talia, regardless of what she had tried to pull off in Gotham. Though he had watched her on television during the siege, it had been difficult to equate that treacherous young woman with the ragged, shorn-headed child of the pit. It was easy to remember the day of her birth, though he was no great lover of children. Seeing something so innocent and new in that wretched place had somehow given him hope. Of course that hope had been short-lived as year after year went by, but at least Talia’s activities and chatter provided a distraction from the monotony of nothing but male prisoners after Melisande’s death. Another day he could never forget from that place.

            He had been away from his cell when Melisande had been attacked. Hearing her screams and the shouts of inmates, he had rushed back, expecting to find Bane in some sort of trouble because of her. Instead he found a roiling mass of men, fighting each other to get inside Melisande’s cell, to get their moment of violation before the woman was completely destroyed by those already inside. Abrams knew instantly that he was already too late to help Melisande, and when he saw nothing of Bane or the child, he figured Bane had gotten the five-year-old to safety. He did, however, spot Dr. Assad, the man who had inadvertently left Melisande’s door unlocked. Assad struggled amidst the chaos in a suicidal attempt to quell the frenzy. Unaware of Assad’s part in the insanity, Abrams had rescued him before he could be killed, himself suffering a flurry of kicks and blows that nearly ended them both.

            While in prison, Abrams had had little to no real relationship with Melisande. The woman never came out of her cell, which was two doors down from his. They rarely spoke. He avoided conversing with her. To even look upon her was torture for every man in that hellhole. Young and beautiful, exotic, unattainable. A constant reminder of what they would never sample again. Many prisoners came to ogle her on a daily basis, to taunt her self-imposed isolation, to say what they wanted to do to her. Some even masturbated in front of her. Bane, though a mere boy, had done everything he could to chase such intruders off. When his mother failed on occasion to restrain him, Bane usually suffered a beating from the man he attacked, yet that didn’t stop him from trying to protect his mother’s honor. It was one of Bane’s qualities that had piqued Abrams’s interest in the boy.

            If Abrams was to identify a particular moment when he had connected on a personal level with Bane, it was shortly after the death of Bane’s mother. The day after she had died, a prisoner who lived on the other side of Bane’s cell had befriended the boy. Abrams suspected the wretched little man known as the Vulture to be a pedophile. He had no proof, of course, only a sixth sense honed by having been a victim of just such a predator when he had been about Bane’s age. He warned Bane without revealing anything about his personal experience or specifics about what he thought the Vulture capable of. Bane, of course, refused to listen, as stubborn in his youth as he was as a man. The boy missed his mother, of course, and the Vulture had plied him with friendship and crafting a chess set, like an expert game hunter luring its victim with bait. And Bane didn’t want to lose that companionship.

            The relationship ended badly, as Abrams had expected. The Vulture finally showed his hand. Bane defended himself with the knife his mother had hidden in his Teddy bear, slicing the Vulture’s jugular and leaving him to bleed out. Abrams admired the boy’s courage; if only he had been able to do the same to his attacker all those years before. From then on, Abrams had offered Bane what little friendship he was capable of offering.

            A knock on the door jarred Abrams from his reminiscing. “Good morning, sir. Are you awake? I have brought your breakfast.”

            An Indian accent. Abrams frowned. Bane had servants? “Come in.”

            A middle-aged man entered, pushing a serving cart. His brown face showed little emotion, only duty, as he drew closer, bringing with him the heavenly scent of warm food. Abrams couldn’t remember when he had last eaten, and realized he was extremely hungry.

            “I am Hisham, sir. I will be helping you during your recovery here.” He moved across the room to a small cabinet. “Before you eat, I will change your dressing.” From the cabinet, he produced medical supplies then returned to the bed.

            Abrams started to remove his loose cotton shirt but winced and hesitated.

            “Allow me, sir. Slowly lift this arm…yes, that’s it. Now the other.”

            Once the old dressing was removed, Abrams got his first real look at his wound. It was ugly and stitched but appeared pretty typical otherwise. He wondered again how Bane had arranged his medical care. Of course he had asked, but Bane refused to divulge anything.

            “Save your breath,” Barsad had said, sharing a cigarette with Abrams after Bane had left them.

            Abrams studied the cigarette before handing it back to Barsad. “Bane ever tell you I used to sell these in prison? I had a source among the resupply guards who’d get a cut of whatever I made off of them.”

            Barsad took back the cigarette, enjoyed a long pull, flicked away the ash. “Bane hates cigarettes. Always bitchin’ at me to quit. Throws a fit if I smoke around him or Talia.” He shrugged. “I try not to.”

            Abrams offered a wry grin. “You must be paid well to put up with him.”

            “Paid?” Barsad laughed. “Even if a salary was a part of this gig, there’s no amount of money in the world worth putting up with Bane.” He winked and grinned before returning the cigarette to his mouth.

            Now that he was at this palace, on the road to recovery, Abrams hoped he had more opportunities to talk with Barsad about Bane, to fill in the blanks from all these years. He liked the man and his sharp wit, as well as his interesting balance of respect and playfulness with his commander. It was a brotherly relationship, Abrams could easily see, and he was glad Bane had someone like Barsad to keep him balanced.

            Balanced was not a term Abrams had expected to use now for Bane. Having closely watched the occupation of Gotham play out on television for months, Abrams figured Bane was quite unhinged, as did the world. He assumed something had separated Bane from Talia, his anchor. Perhaps the girl was dead. That would certainly explain Bane’s seemingly insane, suicidal actions. But when Abrams found out with the rest of the world that Talia had spearheaded the campaign against Gotham, Bane’s actions made more sense to Abrams. While some looked upon Bane after the occupation as Talia’s lackey, Abrams knew there was more to his motivations. Even if Bane hadn’t wanted to be the face of Gotham’s reckoning, Abrams knew he would do whatever Talia asked, not only because of his love for her but because of the adulation for Rā’s al Ghūl that he had seen in Bane’s eyes the day Rā’s had helped them climb out of the pit. And no doubt Bane had felt an obligation, a debt, to Rā’s for his liberation, the same debt Abrams felt for Talia for her inclusion of him on her list of inmates for her father to preserve. No matter what craziness those two had indulged in with their murderous plan for Gotham, he owed them his life.

            Hisham finished dressing the wound then left Abrams alone to eat his meal, which he did in short order, then wished for more. By then, another knock sounded at the door.

            “Come in.”

            The door opened to reveal Talia, with Bane behind her. Abrams was momentarily dumbstruck by not only her beauty, more stunning than any television screen could reflect, but by the transformation from the last time he had seen her in person—a waif sobbing in the arms of her ravaged protector as the sands of the Thar Desert swirled about them. How could this even be the same person? Bane’s eyes crinkled with pride from behind her, as if he could read Abrams’s thoughts.

            Talia glided quickly to the bed. “Good morning.”

            Abrams couldn’t help but return her smile. “Well, look at you. If I hadn’t been told, I’d never guess who you are. Nothing left of Henri from the pit.”

            Hearing not only her assumed name from her charade as a boy in prison but a name that had once belonged to her father tempered Talia’s expression. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Unfortunately, in truth, a part of the pit will always be with us.”

            Abrams’s own expression faded. “True.”

            “Here, let me take that.” Talia removed his breakfast tray and returned it to the cart. Bane set a padded wooden chair next to the bed for Talia.

            “And here’s Bane, still at your side. I should’ve known you were there all along in Gotham with him.”

            Sitting in the chair, Talia looked up at Bane and momentarily took his hand. The warm, private smile Bane shared with her from behind the mask gave Abrams pause.

            “How are you feeling?” Talia asked.

            “Okay. A little sore from the trip, but ol’ Hisham fixed me up before breakfast.” He eyed them with amusement. “Servants? You have servants?”

            Talia blushed. “He is my grandmother’s servant. This is her home, not ours. We are merely guests, like you.”

            “But servants? That’s quite a step up from what you grew up with.”

            “Indeed,” Bane said, placing a hand on Talia’s shoulder, which she covered with her own hand. “But let us not linger upon memories of our unfortunate past.”

            “I couldn’t agree more,” Abrams said. “The more important topic is my being here. Being alive, that is, because of you. Thank you.”

            “Considering we got you into this situation,” Talia said, “seeing to your recovery and safety is the least we can do.”

            “Where am I exactly? Or won’t you say? I’m guessing India, from the servant, the weather, and the décor.”

            Talia glanced up at Bane before saying, “Actually, you are not too very far from the place where we first met.”

            “Well, there’s some irony for you. Will I be meeting your grandmother so I can thank her, too?”

            “Yes, _Jiddah_ will be in after lunch. Or if you feel up to it,” she gestured to a folded wheelchair against one wall, “you can join us for lunch.”

            “I think I can manage. I’m not very good at lying around.”

            “Very well. I’ll have Hisham fetch you when it is time. Another old friend of yours will be there as well.”

            Abrams’s brow furrowed in confusion. “The only old friends I have are you.”

            “Not true,” Talia said. “Surely you remember Yemi from the pit.”

            Abrams stared. “Yemi? How the hell—”

            “He is one of our brothers,” Bane said proudly.

            “Well, holy shit. Yemi.” He laughed. “I’d almost forgotten him.”

            “He’s looking forward to seeing you,” Talia said.

            Abrams considered her youthful face, a face that lacked the mileage of Bane’s with his worldly gaze and physical scars. “Hopefully the years have been as kind to Yemi as they have to you. You look well. Bane told me about your injuries at the end of the Gotham siege. It appears you’ve made a full recovery.”

            Again she exchanged a secret smile with Bane. “I wouldn’t say a _full_ recovery, but I am getting there. Bane’s injuries were far more serious than mine.”

            Bane scoffed. “That is hardly the truth.”

            “Mine weren’t life-threatening; yours were.” She turned back to Abrams. “I thought I might lose him.”

            “Well, I’m glad you didn’t.”

            “Bane tells me you should fully recover. He also told me of your bravery during the operation.”

            Abrams scoffed. “All I had to do was sit there and get shot.” His grin lay crooked upon his harelip.

            “I don’t remember this dry wit of yours so much in prison, old friend,” Bane said. “It would appear Barsad is already influencing you. Perhaps I should limit your contact with him.”

            Talia chuckled.

            “And to the point of your recovery,” Bane said, sobering, “we are concerned with your plans afterwards. As we have discussed, Darzi’s men might seek revenge, if they feel you were indeed responsible for our operation.”

            “I’m not worried about it,” Abrams said.

            “Well,” Talia said, “we are. And I know this is rather early to discuss, but we wanted to give you plenty of time to consider our offer.”

            “Offer?” A stab of pain in his side curbed Abrams’s laugh. “I’m not joining your organization, if that’s what you mean.”

            “No,” Bane replied. “We figured you would not be interested in that. No, this is something different but something we feel will afford you safety. It may not be a perfect solution, but I think it would benefit all of us.”

            Abrams rubbed the salt and pepper stubble on his chin. “I have a job waiting for me in Germany. I’m really not in the market for anything else.”

            Talia frowned. “You won’t be safe there.”

            “Like I said, I’m not worried about it.”

            Talia frowned. “Won’t you at least listen to our proposal?”

            The sincerity on their faces struck Abrams. They genuinely seemed concerned about him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen such emotion in anyone connected to him. This made him both uncomfortable and intrigued.

            “Well, okay. Sure. No harm in it.”

            Bane expounded: “Here at the palace and whenever she leaves the grounds, Talia’s grandmother employs a small, personal security detail.”

            “Your men?”

            “True that while we are here we have some of our own security forces with us. However, those who protect Maysam are in her employ only.”

            “And why does Talia’s grandmother require security? Just because of her relationship with you or for some other reason?”

            Talia said, “Do you recall the circumstances around my mother’s condemnation to the pit?”

            “Something to do with her bastard of a father, if I recall.”

            “Yes. He sent her there. Long after we were free, we learned that he actually owned the prison.”

            “Jesus.”

            “He could own something like that because he was a very wealthy man. Some of his wealth was inherited but much of it was acquired, both legally and illegally, often brutally. He was a warlord in this region, greatly feared and very powerful.”

            “Is he still alive?”

            “No, he died some time ago. One of his brothers took over his empire, but recently he was assassinated. Another brother, Nashir, has ascended the throne, one who is a bit more moderate yet determined to preserve the family legacy. Though my grandmother has no direct role in any of her husband’s family dealings, she prefers to live here, where she is comfortable and where she can provide us with a sanctuary when needed. But you can imagine how the family’s enemies might wish to use her against Nashir. That is why she has a security detail of her own.”

            “And,” Bane said, “we would like to offer you a place on that detail.”

            Abrams raised his eyebrows. “That’s quite a leap of faith on your part. You don’t know me, Bane, not really.”

            “I know you, Abrams. I know what we owe each other. That is something that transcends the years between our last meeting.”

            Abrams considered this and nodded. “You’ve talked to Talia’s grandmother about it?”

            “Yes, over breakfast,” Talia said. “If you decide that you are interested, she will conduct her own interview and background checks.”

            “We hope you will consider it,” Bane said.

            “It’s a generous offer. Looks like I’ll have some time to think about it.”

            “You’re welcome here for however long you desire.” Talia dropped her gaze for a moment before looking at him again. “We know you don’t have any family back in Germany, or wherever you may go. But we want you to know, you have family here, among us. You are always welcome, even if you decide to leave.”

            The unexpected lump in Abrams’s throat rendered him incapable of doing nothing more than nod.

            Talia smiled and stood. “We’ll let you rest now. As I said, I will send Hisham to fetch you for lunch. My grandmother is looking forward to meeting you. She has heard many tales about you over the years from Bane.”

            “I hope you haven’t told her too much, Bane,” Abrams said with a small grin. “She might reconsider the job offer.”


	25. Chapter 25

            Maysam stood in the shade of the dining room veranda and watched the distant figures of her granddaughter and Bane strolling in the gardens. Bane’s arm was around Talia, and her head rested against his shoulder as they admired the flowers. The sight thoroughly warmed Maysam’s heart, and she felt a deep satisfaction. Her granddaughter had finally come to realize the treasure that walked beside her; Talia had told her as much, though Maysam knew it before Talia had. She had also told Maysam of Bane’s veiled skepticism, something that obviously pained Talia. Maysam, however, was not worried by Bane’s response. In time, he would accept the truth.

            “Watching the two lovebirds, are you?” Barsad sidled up to her with a cup of coffee, smelling of the breakfast they had all just finished. Yemi had wheeled Abrams back to his room, leaving Barsad and Maysam alone.

            “Yes,” she sighed. “And I’m enjoying every minute of it.”

            “Always the matchmaker, Maysam.”

            “This match was made long ago, John, by the hand of fate.”

            “Sure, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t be what it is today without your influence.”

            She did not try to hide the pride gleaming in her eyes when she turned to him. “Perhaps my influence over others isn’t as great as you think. After all, you have yet to consummate your relationship with Sanjana.”

            Barsad’s teasing smirk faded slightly. “How would you know? Cameras in my room, maybe?”

            Maysam chuckled. “I don’t need cameras to know the truth in this, John.”

            “Bane’s been blabbing to you?”

            “Of course not.” Her look was indulgent and rebuking at the same time. “Please don’t tell me you still restrain yourself because of what you said when you first met her—that you feel sleeping with her in my home would be some sort of betrayal of our past relationship.”

            “If you remember, I also told you I was cognizant of her being raped.”

            “Time has passed.”

            “Jesus, Maysam, you of all people—because of Melisande—should have a bit of compassion for what Sanjana went through.” Barsad caught himself before he could mention Amir’s assault, something he would never willing tell her, for Sanjana’s sake as well as his own.

            “I do. But there’s no denying the girl is smitten with you. Back when you first met her, she felt nothing for you. Now things are different. Surely she would be a willing participant if you merely asked her.”

            “I’m not so sure of that.”

            “Only one way to find out.”

            Barsad sighed in frustration.

            “You are bored here,” Maysam continued. “Indulge yourself.”

            “I won’t be bored much longer.”

            “What do you mean?”

            Barsad’s gaze went to Bane, sitting now beside Talia on a bench in the rose garden. “I’ll be going back out into the field.”

            “What?” Maysam went cold. “But it’s not safe. The immunity agreement was only for Bane and Talia.”

            “I told Bane I can’t stay here all the time. I’ll come back between missions.”

            “You can’t leave him.”

            “He doesn’t need me here, not anymore, Maysam. You know me—I have to be doing something.”

            “You will break Sanjana’s heart.”

            He frowned at her. “Nice try. But, like I said, I’ll come back. Bane would kill me if I missed the birth of your great-grandchild.”

            “And so would I.” She touched his arm. “Can’t you wait until after Talia gives birth? It’s only a few months.”

            “I’ve already been here a few months. The League needs me in the field, especially with Bane and Talia staying here so long. Bane agrees.”

            Maysam had watched him come and go many times over the years, but she knew this time would be even more painful. The more she aged, the more she wanted to hold onto all of them.

            “I’ve become selfish and spoiled having you with me so long,” she murmured.

            “And I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.” He put his hand over hers. “Like I said, I’ll be back regularly. Bane says he’ll only let me take part in brief missions, nothing long term. It’s all the stubborn bear will concede to.”

            “Well, if you won’t come back for me or Bane, then at least I’m confident you will come back to see Sanjana.”

            Barsad chuckled. “I’ll come back to see all of you.”

            “You will tell Sanjana about this change now or will you wait until you next leave?”

            “I’m not sure.”

            Maysam sighed and crossed her arms against her inner chill, gazed out over the courtyards and gardens. “At least I will have those two a bit longer, then the baby.”

            Eager to change the subject, Barsad asked, “What did you think of Abrams?”

            “Difficult to say since he spoke so little.”

            “Bane says he’s a man of few words.”

            “So different from you.” She sliced a coy glance his way.

            “Not so different. We have more than one thing in common, including loyalty to a certain masked curmudgeon.”

            “Allah be praised.”

            “Do you think you’ll hire Abrams? I think he’d be a good fit. And he’s no spring chicken, so a job a bit more…sedate would do him some good, Bane thinks. And he and I will sleep a bit easier when we’re away, knowing someone like Abrams is close to you…and the baby.”

            “I will get to know him better before I can decide.”

            “Understandable.”

            “But I will certainly take your recommendations to heart.” Maysam turned. “Now if you will excuse me, I am meeting the interior designer for the nursery this morning, so I must get ready.”

            “Is Talia joining you?” He glanced to the garden. “Or isn’t she interested?”

            “John. You mustn’t be so hard on Talia about this baby. She will come around; you’ll see. Bane’s interest will rub off on her, as will mine. That’s why she will be meeting the designer with me and giving her input. We’re also going on a shopping trip tomorrow to Jaipur. Buying things for the baby will inspire her, I’m sure.”

            “Does Bane know she’s going outside the palace walls?”

            “Talia will tell him today.”

            “Sure, there’s the immunity agreement, but we don’t want anyone connecting you with Talia or any of us. It will only lead to problems for you.”

            “Don’t worry. She will wear a hijab and plain clothing, nothing that will draw attention to herself.” She wagged a finger. “Don’t spoil our outing, John. Talia needs this. It will refresh her after being a prisoner here for all these months.”

            Maysam led the way back into the dining room.

            “I should go with you,” Barsad fussed.

            “No. You are still a wanted man. It’s too soon after Gotham. I will have my usual detail.”

            “Well, you’ll at least take Yemi.”

            “If it will mollify you, then very well. Now finish your coffee. It looks like Sanjana has already been in to clear the table, but she’s left the coffee.”

            “Jesus, I hope she didn’t hear us talking.”

            “I doubt it.” Taking advantage of their privacy, she bestowed a quick kiss upon his cheek. “Now, I’m off. Come join us later in Bane’s office when the decorator arrives.”

            Barsad laughed. “No, thanks. I’ll leave that to you ladies…and Bane.” He winked, drawing a smile from her before she left.

#

            The sun had set long ago, dinner had been eaten, followed by a leisurely swim and a shower, then a brief visit with Abrams. Now Barsad relaxed on his veranda, feet propped up on the railing, shooting jets of cigarette smoke into the cool night air. Sanjana was due any minute now with his nightly snack. He smiled.

            As he watched the rise of the moon, his thoughts migrated back to his conversation with Maysam that morning. Damn it, sometimes he wished Maysam wouldn’t discuss Sanjana with him. Though he knew it was a stupid sensation, he always felt disloyal to her. Sure, her desire for his happiness was genuine, but he still felt uncomfortable talking about his sex life—or lack thereof—with her. He hated it when she referred to herself as old, too old to be desired by a man. Sometimes he considered proving her wrong, but he knew she would rebuff him. She had released him long ago and insisted he find someone younger, someone worthy of his charm and wit.

            Barsad now scoffed at himself and took another draw on his cigarette. Maybe he should turn the tables and play matchmaker. But he dismissed the thought immediately. Truth be told, he wouldn’t want to witness Maysam with another man. Selfish, yes, but there it was. Then he thought of Abrams and grinned. Maybe he wouldn’t mind so much if it was someone like Abrams. After all, Maysam liked younger men. He chuckled at the thought of those two—Maysam bright and alluring, Abrams quiet and rough. Hell, anything was possible when it came to a beautiful woman; he was proof of that.

            When Sanjana’s distant knock reached him, he called out to her then crushed the remainder of his cigarette in an ashtray on the table beside him before shoving it under his chair. He stood to greet her when she halted in the open doorway. Her expression was unusually tempered. She carried a tray with fruit and cheese.

            “Would you like this here or inside?”

            “Let’s sit out here. It’s a nice night. Do you have time to stay?”

            “Yes, for a little bit.”

            “Good.”

            Barsad took the tray and set it on the table. As she sat in the wicker chair on the other side of the table, the sweet scent of lilies drifted from her. He couldn’t help breathing in deeply, not caring if she noticed or not.

            “Help yourself,” he encouraged as he took a few cubes of cheese.

            Sanjana pulled some grapes from their stems while a brief silence separated them, drawing Barsad’s curiosity. Again he thought back to this morning, and he hoped Sanjana had not heard his conversation with Maysam.

            “So what do you think of Abrams?” he asked.

            “I can’t really say. I’ve only seen him in the dining room while I was serving him. He seems a bit…shy.”

            “Bane’s never used that word to describe him,” Barsad chuckled. “I think Abrams is just a little out of practice when it comes to socializing. What I know of his life and occupation, it hasn’t encouraged positive relationships. Bane thinks he’ll fit in just fine once he’s here for a while.”

            “You expect a long convalescence?”

            “Not too long. The surgery went well, and he’s in good health otherwise. No, I’m referring to him remaining here, working for Maysam. Didn’t you hear us talking about it during lunch today?”

            “Oh, yes. That’s right. I did.”

            Barsad studied her as she ate the grapes, one by one, slowly, thoughtfully. She hadn’t fully looked at him yet; very unusual. Something was up, and his fear of what she may have heard that morning grew. He couldn’t come right out and ask her, though, because if he was wrong he’d then have opened himself up to inquiry. Perhaps he could, instead, draw her out.

            “Is something wrong, Sanjana? You seem a bit…distracted.”

            She didn’t answer right away, buying time by putting another grape into her mouth. Barsad waited, leaning forward in an attempt to draw her attention to him, but she remained focused somewhere far out in the night. He watched the soft curve of her jaw as she chewed, the changes in her lips. If she’d let him, he’d take that damn grape right out of her mouth with his tongue and eat it himself.

            “Sanjana?”

            At last she swallowed. “I’ve been thinking…about us…about our kiss yesterday.”

            He inwardly sighed in relief.

            “I want to apologize.”

            “Apologize?”

            Her lips pressed together, her eyebrows lowered. “I shouldn’t have been so forward.”

            “You weren’t forward. I initiated the kiss.”

            “But I encouraged you.”

            “Trust me, Sanjana, I don’t need encouragement. You’re a beautiful woman.”

            “But it’s wrong of me to lead you on.”

            “What’re you talking about?” He wished she would look at him.

            Her hands moved restlessly together in her lap. “My father told me, after Hisham’s nephew raped me, that I must have led him on, that I was the cause of it, that no decent girl would have gone alone with him to his house. But I thought my fiance’s father was there. I never would have gone—”

            “Sanjana.”

            She nearly jumped at the sound of his voice, as if she had forgotten he was there.

            “Look at me, Sanjana.”

            Her eyes glistened when she obeyed.

            “I’ve told you before—I’d never hurt you.”

            “I know that.”

            “When you kiss a man, you’ve given him permission to do one thing and one thing only—to kiss you back. That’s all. I’ve never taken it any other way from you.”

            “Yes, but…I know you want to…and I want to, but…”

            Shocked by her admission, Barsad moved to a loveseat beside her chair, angled it toward her. “But what?”

            “I’m sorry, John,” she blurted. “But I heard you and Madam talking this morning, after breakfast. I was clearing the table, and I heard my name. I shouldn’t have listened, but I went to the door so I could.”

            Barsad bit back a curse.

            “You must understand,” Sanjana continued, “it’s not that I don’t want to be with you. It’s just that…I don’t know if I can be…with you or any man. And because of that, I shouldn’t be throwing myself at you.”

            Barsad took her hands in his, forcing her to turn to him. “You haven’t been throwing yourself at me. Don’t feel pressured by anything you’ve heard Maysam say or by anything I may have said.”

            “But you told Madam you will be going away again. Is it because of me?”

            “Of course not. If anything could make me stay, it would be you. But it’s not in my nature to sit idle for so long. I’m a soldier, Sanjana.”

            “Miss Talia stays because she is pregnant. Mr. Bane stays because of her. Maybe you would stay if you had me.”

            “That has nothing to do with me going, Sanjana. I promise you. I have work to do. With Bane and Talia here, our organization needs someone from the upper echelon in the field. That’s me. Bane agrees. It’s time for things to change.”

            “But maybe if I—”

            “No.” He wiped away the single tear that had trickled down her cheek. “I don’t want it to be that way. If the day comes when you feel comfortable with something more intimate between us, that’s great. But if the day never comes or you find someone more suited to you,” he shrugged, “that’s okay, too.”

            “No man will ever be as understanding as you.”

            “You might be surprised. Not all men are assholes.”

            “But in my culture—”

            “Don’t get hung up on culture. People can surprise you. You’re worth stepping outside of boundaries for.” He held her hands a bit tighter and leaned in closer. “I’ll tell you a secret.” He offered a tiny grin to draw her away from her sad focus.

            “A secret?” she said near a whisper.

            “Yes, about a woman I was once with, someone outside my culture. A strict Muslim at the time, in fact.”

            Sanjana’s dark eyes widened.

            “And she was also married.”

            Sanjana gave a tiny gasp. “Did you love her?”

            “Yes, very much. We risked everything to be together. She’d never done anything like that before. But she threw caution to the wind because she loved me, too. And someday there’ll be someone in your life willing to step outside of the norm to be with you.”

            “What happened to her?”

            “Eventually I broke things off for her sake. I knew what her husband would do to her if he ever found out.”

            “She should have left him.”

            Barsad chuckled. “Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Well, things never are, are they, when it comes to relationships? No, even if she would’ve left him, he would’ve found her and killed her.”

            “But you would have stopped him.”

            “Not back then. I didn’t have the abilities or resources that I have now to protect those I care about. He was a very powerful, dangerous man. And she feared for my safety, too. That’s why she agreed it was best to end our affair.”

            Sanjana’s eyes had softened, and her own despair had drifted away with his story and her sympathy for him. “Is she still married?”

            “No, her husband died a few years back.”

            “Then why aren’t you with her?”

            Barsad chuckled. “Like I said, relationships are never simple. I still see her, but we’re just friends. We’re both content with it now.” He touched her cheek. “And I’m content with what you and I have. Don’t put pressure on yourself. I won’t.”

            She produced a small, melancholy smile. “I don’t need to find someone who will understand my situation. I’ve already found him. But now I’m going to lose him.”

            “Nah. I’ll be back. With Talia pregnant, Bane won’t let me be gone for long stretches of time. And that’s fine with me. It’ll be enough to keep me entertained, and in the meantime I can come back here and spend time with you. So I have the best of both worlds.” His words didn’t cheer her, so he patted the space beside him. “C’mere. Sit with me.” Once she obeyed, he put his arm around her and eased her close. “There. Now just relax and forget all this. Let’s enjoy tonight and not think about tomorrow, okay?”

            “Okay,” she murmured.

            He kissed her cheek, and she smiled before resting her head on his shoulder. Together they gazed off into the night, silent now, their fingers entwined.


	26. Chapter 26

            Alone, Bane stood in the doorway of the nursery. He found it difficult to believe this room had once been an office with a distinctly male décor. Hopefully Siddig El Fadil was rolling over in his grave, knowing his private office was now the nursery for Melisande’s grandchild. Beneath the mask, a cold grin tugged at Bane’s scarred mouth.

            Maysam had overseen the genesis of the nursery, with some input from Talia. Though Talia could have offered more, she did not want to interfere with her grandmother’s joy, thus deferred always to her during the process; after all, this was Maysam’s home. The room was such a happy environment with its ceiling painted the color of a perfect sky with cheerful white clouds. The walls were each a different theme—one sunrise yellow with rolling emerald hills, another forest green with white birch trees, another a dark gray with a fat moon and stars, the fourth blue with a seashore motif. A rocking chair of fine wood and handcraftsmanship waited in one corner for mother and child. Several stuffed animals sat there in anticipation of little hands, among them one that Bane himself had picked out—a Teddy bear in honor of his bear Osito when he was a boy. An ivory-colored crib of teak wood—the same type of wood as Talia’s charpoy in prison—was against the lefthand wall, with a matching dresser opposite. A mobile of colorful birds hung above the crib. Melisande’s revered blanket lay folded neatly over the crib’s railing. It would now comfort his child the way it had comforted him, Talia, and Melisande. Inside the crib lay a pink and blue blanket that he had crocheted, one of many of his creations for the child, which included hats, booties, and shirts, as well as a variety of _amigurumi_.

            How quickly the months had slipped by. It was now summer, and the baby was due any day now. The very thought quickened his pulse with both excitement and trepidation. Because of the impending arrival, Barsad had returned to the palace yesterday from a mission in Africa. His lieutenant had been gone two weeks, and Bane had been pleased to see him again, to know he was near for this momentous occasion. Over these many months, Barsad had been gone from the palace several times in service to the League, often taking Bane’s place during operations that Bane would have normally overseen himself. There had been a couple of times Bane accompanied Barsad, but that had been earlier in Talia’s pregnancy. Talia had encouraged him to leave the palace, for she knew he craved the challenges of being in the field, but he knew she also feared for his safety, especially because of the baby. So, when he did indulge himself, he chose missions that had a relatively low risk factor. He was confident that once the baby was born, he would be more active beyond the walls of the palace, yet not so active that he would be deprived of bonding with his child. At the thought of his offspring, he smiled.

            “Good morning, sir,” Hisham’s voice turned Bane.

            The servant came toward him, wheeling a meal cart down the hallway, its covered dishes unable to contain the tantalizing scents of breakfast.

            “There must be a mistake, Hisham. Talia and I are to have breakfast with Maysam.”

            Hisham halted in front of him, for Bane’s bulk blocked his way into the adjacent dining room. “Miss Talia instructed me to have your breakfast brought here, sir.” A small smile slipped through Hisham’s usual stoic veneer. “And if I must choose between your orders or hers, sir, you know I must obey her.”

            Bane chuckled. “You are a wise man, Hisham. Very well; if the mother of my child says we are eating here, then so be it. Proceed.” He stepped inside the nursery so the servant could enter the dining room across the hall.

            A few minutes later, just as Hisham was leaving, Bane heard the bathroom door finally open. He returned to the hallway to see Talia emerge in a white cotton robe, her hair damp from her shower. He smiled at the sight of her distended belly and swollen breasts. Yes, anytime now.

            “I understand we are dining in,” he said.

            “Do you mind?” She drew near with her awkward, waddling gait, and he bent down to receive a kiss against the mask.

            “Not at all.” He led the way into the small dining room where morning light spilled through the large glass doors leading to the veranda. It was already too hot outside to eat on the veranda, as Talia preferred. “I assume you informed your grandmother that we will not be joining her.”

            “Of course.”

            Bane held her chair for her. Having already injected his morphine, he removed his mask and settled into his own seat.

            “Actually I decided we would dine here on purpose—I thought it might be nice for _Jiddah_ and Abrams to have a…an intimate breakfast alone.” Her sapphire eyes sparkled with slyness. “I told Sanjana she will serve Barsad’s meal in his room.”

            Bane studied her in surprise then chuckled. “Now who is the matchmaker?”

            “Come now, _habibi_. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed something growing between _Jiddah_ and Abrams over these many months since he decided to stay.”

            “Perhaps.”

            “I remember the first time Abrams saw her. He was dumbstruck.”

            “Well, he is a man of few words.”

            “Yes, and even fewer when he met her that day at lunch. Barsad noticed.”

            “He would.”

            “He was teasing Abrams about it later, remember? Barsad said he had warned him about _Jiddah’s_ beauty, but no doubt Abrams had expected an old crone.” She laughed as she poured a cup of coffee from the carafe.

            “Well, I admit they have become friends. But surely it is nothing more. Abrams is quite the opposite of your grandmother—introverted and plain, while she is vibrant and exotic.”

            “Perhaps she prefers those traits to what she had in her husband—egoism and flashiness. Now that she is older, a more sedate man could be what she needs.”

            “He is an atheist, my dear.”

            “I’m not saying she would marry him, silly.”

            “Just sleep with him?”

            Talia shrugged. “Perhaps. But more than anything else, he gives her companionship. Barsad is gone regularly now, and when he is here, he has Sanjana, of course.”

            “He is still attentive to your grandmother.”

            “I know. He’s careful to be that way. That’s one of the things that’s held back his relationship with Sanjana. But _Jiddah_ expects nothing from him. She’s told him as much herself.” Talia sipped her coffee. “I think _Jiddah_ is just what Abrams needs. Look at the life he’s lived. He deserves some happiness and fun. She’s already perked him up, don’t you think?”

            “Indeed.” Bane buttered his toast. “But let us discuss another topic, my dear, while we are alone. There is something I want to tell you, something that will please you.”

            She raised her eyebrows at him with interest as she spooned yogurt onto her plate. “What is it, _habibi_?”

            He hesitated, taking in her radiant face, a smile of anticipation tugging at the corners of his distorted mouth. His hands gently engulfed her right hand, and he turned his chair towards her.

            “These many months,” he began, “you and your grandmother, and even Barsad on your behalf, have petitioned me to take over as Demon Head. You know how reluctant I am for you to surrender your birthright. And I still feel that way. But I have decided, because of our child, I will agree to officially assume command of the League. This will free you to devote all your time to our child’s all-important formative years. You can live here with your grandmother. That’s what she wants, and you seem very happy here.”

            Talia stared at him, disbelieving her ears. Never had she truly believed this day would come.  Though she had become mentally and physically stronger during her time here, she still had been unconvinced that she should resume her full role as Demon Head. But she had nearly given up all hope of convincing Bane to step into the position. Perhaps easing up on her pressure to sway him had finally given him time for introspection on the matter.

            “It doesn’t have to be permanent,” Bane was saying. “Whenever you desire the rank again, it will be yours, as it should be. Then, perhaps one day, our child will succeed us.”

            Talia could barely find her voice. “Are you sure, _habibi_?”

            “Of course…if this is still your desire.”

            “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

            “I didn’t want you stepping down for the wrong reasons, for believing that you failed our brothers or your father. I think you are beginning to forgive yourself for that. The child has refocused you to more positive things. You can still serve the League from here while you enjoy motherhood and a loving environment with your grandmother. I will base myself here, of course, instead of _’Eth Alth’eban_. I want to spend as much time as my duties allow with you and our baby.”

            She brought her other hand to his, tears suddenly in her eyes. “Are you sure, my love?”

            “Yes. I want your focus here. That is more important to me than anything. And I want you to spend as much time as possible with your grandmother. The more she ages, the more precious you will be to her. Barsad feels the same way.”

            Talia choked out a small laugh. “Barsad. He’s always preferred your leadership to mine.”

            “He is a fool sometimes.”

            She brought one of his hands to her lips and kissed it. “Thank you, _habibi_. I love you.”

            Bane leaned across the corner of the table and kissed her, long and lingering.

            “Oh!” she gasped, suddenly pulling away, her hand going to her belly.

            “What is it?” he asked in alarm. “The babe?”

            She waited a moment, breath quickening, a flash of pain in her eyes.

            “ _Habibati_?” Bane started to stand.

            The pain ebbed, and she relaxed.

            “A contraction?”

            “Yes,” she said with a mixture of wonder and fear. “It’s begun.”

#

            Gently Bane massaged Talia’s shoulders as he listened to her purposeful breathing, the technique she had learned during the months of preparation for this moment. Her skin was warm and sweaty from her hours of labor. He could feel her fatigue, see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice when she occasionally spoke. However, he could only imagine her pain; she had insisted upon natural childbirth. Bane admired her fortitude.

            “Mama had no assistance when she bore me,” Talia had said when she told Bane her decision. “This will be my way to honor her.”

            “How much longer, Doctor?” Maysam spoke from beside Talia’s bed where she held her granddaughter’s hand.

            “Not long,” the League physician said from between Talia’s thighs.

            Sanjana stood near the doctor, ready to assist in any way. She looked a bit pale with the whole experience but remained attentive, ready to put into practice what she had been taught in preparation for this event.

            Bane spoke soothingly into Talia’s ear, “You are almost there, my brave little mouse. Soon the pain will be over.”

            Talia had endured these many hours with barely a moan. Her League training, of course, helped her master mind and body, but it could not mask the strain on her face. Yet, like her mother, she was determined and focused.

            Some of the tension left her shoulders under Bane’s careful kneading, and she relaxed her head against his chest.

            “I want to push,” she murmured.

            “Not yet, _habibati_. Wait for the doctor to tell you.” He kept his face close beside her, spoke near a whisper, “Your mother is here with you. Can you feel her presence?”

            “Yes.”

            “She is so very proud of you, for this gift you are giving all of us.”

            “All right, my dear,” the physician said with a small smile sent her way. “The time has come for you to push.”

            Bane supported her shoulders, kneeling behind her on the hospital bed that had been brought into their suite for the delivery. As Talia pushed, Maysam encouraged her, steeled against Talia’s squeezing hand. Tears streamed down Maysam’s cheeks, a blend of happiness and sympathy for her granddaughter’s pain. Bane watched Sanjana’s eyes, for they revealed much more than the doctor’s. The young girl appeared about to faint but managed to obey the doctor’s instructions. She jumped when Talia let out a brief, sharp cry as the baby crowned.

            “Easy now,” the doctor said. “The worst is over. Not so hard now. A couple more. There you go. Almost there.”

            Then, incredibly, Bane saw his child. He stared in disbelief. The little mottled face came to life, the mouth opening to emit forceful squawks of protest as the world of light welcomed a new life. Maysam gasped, and her tears came harder.

            “You have a son,” the doctor announced, lifting the baby for all to see.

            “A son!” Maysam cried, laughing. “I told you, Haris. A son!”

            Talia looked to him with concern, knowing how much he had desired a daughter. Tears now sheeted her face as well.

            “You have done well, _habibati_ ,” he murmured as Sanjana carefully received the baby; even she was crying now. “We have a beautiful son.”

            With trembling hands, Talia accepted the tiny, swaddled bundle against her breasts. An overwhelming rush of emotions flooded her, emotions she had never expected to experience. She could not stop them, even if she had wanted to. The feel of her newborn against her, warm and squirming, little mouth wide and toothless like a baby bird, changed everything. During these past months, she had not felt the closeness that most mothers supposedly experienced with the life that kicked and grew within her. But now, as the bleary little eyes of blue opened to look upon her, she suddenly understood the connection she had read about. This child was hers, forever. No one could deprive her of his love as she had been deprived of her mother and father. The baby quieted, his tiny fingers flexing as he seemed to study her. Could that already be love in his eyes? Unconditional. Pure. Like his father’s love.

            “Try to nurse him,” the doctor said. “It may help expel the afterbirth.”

            Maysam did her best to help mother and child. Bane stood next to the bed now, so filled with wonder and relief that he could do nothing but watch the miracle in front of him.

            “Mr. Bane,” Sanjana’s voice penetrated his daze. She touched his elbow to get his attention. “May I fetch Mr. Barsad? He wanted to know as soon as possible.”

            “Sanjana,” Bane said with a tired smile, “don’t you think it’s time you stop referring to him as _Mr_. Barsad?”

            She blushed.

            “Go tell him,” Talia said in a drained voice.

            Sanjana smiled. “Congratulations, Miss Talia.”

            Talia nodded her appreciation, and Sanjana hurried from the room.

            Bane slipped his arm around Talia’s shoulders and sat on the side of the bed, his hip against hers. Talia gave a small gasp as the baby found her exposed nipple. It took a few frustrating tries before mother and child found success. Bane chuckled at the contented sight. Talia gave him with a smile of accomplishment.

            “Have you a name for the child?” the doctor said, massaging Talia’s abdomen to encourage the expulsion of the placenta.

            “Yes,” Talia said. “We agreed to name him after my father—Henri.”

            The doctor, who had been recruited by Henri Ducard years ago, nodded with satisfaction. “An excellent choice.”

            Within minutes, the afterbirth was expelled, and Talia was washed and resting comfortably.

            “Would you like to hold him?” Talia asked Bane.

            He could easily see she was almost too exhausted to support the tiny cherub any longer, now that Henri was sated and drowsy.

            “Yes, my dear. Give him to me. You must rest.”

            As Bane carefully accepted the bundle, the baby stirred and opened his eyes. He gave a little shudder, as if startled by the drastic change of faces. For a moment, Bane feared the mask frightened the child, but no protest sounded from Henri’s spit-bubbling lips—full lips, like his father’s had once been. Bane’s large arms swallowed the babe who was barely the size of his father’s bulging bicep. Bane was pleased that the baby did not weigh more than six pounds; during Talia’s pregnancy he had feared that his own large size would lead to a fetus whose measurements in the womb might mean a difficult birth for someone as delicate in structure as Talia.

            Henri’s arms waved about from amidst the soft white blanket, as if he wanted to touch his father’s face. Bane deeply regretted how the cursed mask kept him from snuggling his cheek against his son’s. Perhaps it was time to reconsider Talia’s suggestion of reconstructive surgery. He could start the process now and perhaps look somewhat normal by the time his son was old enough to possibly be repulsed by his father’s intimidating, mechanical appearance. Yes, he needed to rethink things, so many things now that he held his offspring in his arms.

            Bane chuckled over Henri’s amazing amount of dark hair. “He will have your hair, my dear,” Bane said to Talia. “A cloud of mahogany, like your mother and grandmother.” Bane carefully stood from the bed and ever so slightly rocked the baby from side to side, feeling his own heart swell with love and an instinctive drive to protect his cub from the world. No harm would ever come to Henri, he vowed.

            The doctor drew close, momentarily touched Talia’s arm and smiled at her. “I will leave you now, sister. You are in capable hands here. I anticipate no trouble for either of you.”

            “You are still staying until tomorrow, yes, Doctor?” Maysam said with a touch of authority.

            “Of course.”

            Barsad and Sanjana arrived at the door just as the doctor was leaving.

            “Can we come in?” Barsad asked.

            Maysam hurried over to escort him to the bed near the veranda doors. “He’s beautiful, John. Perfect.”

            Sanjana began to gather the doctor’s instruments to clean as Barsad approached Bane, a crooked grin on his stubbled face.

            “A boy,” Barsad spoke in a hushed tone, for he could see the baby was asleep in Bane’s arms. “So Maysam was right…as usual.” He peeked over the edge of the swaddling. “Thank God he has Talia’s looks.”

            “John!” Maysam scolded playfully, exchanging a look with Talia, who could barely keep her eyes open.

            “Congratulations, you two.”

            “Thank you, brother,” Bane said, his attention upon his son, amazed that something so angelic could have come from his loins. “We have quite the adventure ahead of us.”

            Maysam had come around to Bane’s side of the bed to be closer to the baby, and Bane could tell she was beside herself with the desire to hold Henri.

            “I think,” Bane said, “it is time for me to surrender him to his great-grandmother. He is better off in a woman’s arms, as are all children.”

            “Nonsense,” Maysam said. “There is no one he is better off with than his father and mother. You will raise him to be a great man. I, however, get to spoil him into oblivion.” She grinned, the years slipping away and giving Bane a glimpse of Maysam on the day Melisande had been born.

            Careful not to wake the child, Bane transferred him to Maysam. Barsad put his arm around her, and she leaned into him, beaming at her great-grandson. Bane sat on the bed, taking Talia’s hand in his. She looked at him through half-open eyes, a faint smile on her lips. Bane’s other hand smoothed her tousled hair.

            “You’ve made your mother and father very proud today, _habibati_ ,” he murmured. “And me as well. I cannot adequately express how much I love you and our son.”

            “I love you, too, Bane.”

            He returned her flickering smile. “I know you do, little mouse.” He squeezed her hand with belief. “I know you do.”

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story. I invite you to read my other Bane stories here on Ao3 (or my published action/adventure novels, which you can learn about at skkeogh(dot)com). Thank you to all my readers.


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